


Seven Chambers

by sonsarine



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mystery, Slow Burn, Suspense, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2020-04-06 06:02:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 95,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19056685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonsarine/pseuds/sonsarine
Summary: "Trust no one."A new city, a new life, and only one advice.How deep can Tina Goldstein dive in the secrets of Castle Combe?





	1. Castle Combe.

Pale constructions of stones and bricks gave the newcomers to the medieval city of Castle Combe ares of centuries belonging to a distant time. Walking slowly along the concrete street, the modern dark-colored car contrasted with the evenly beige houses to attract the attention of all passers by.

   The woman interrupted the unconscious drumbeat she made on the steering wheel to stare through the splashes lodged in the glass of the front panel, the charged clouds that covered, opaque and gray, the treetops surrounding the small town of Wiltshire County.

"You can park next to the Market Cross, Goldstein." - the woman sitting in the passenger seat indicated the stone structure, the tourist landmark of that municipality, located at the bifurcation of the main street - "The police district is just on our right."

    The two deafening thuds of the car doors mingled with the rumbles from the overcast sky, and Goldstein stared briefly at her own reflection in the windows of the ministerial travel car. Among the dark strands that reached her shoulders to have their ends deposited on the black jacket, dark sunglasses on the always alert face concealed remnants of badly rested nights for the the beginning of the year's festivities.

    The younger woman observed the cautious stroll of the President of the British Ministry's Department of Investigations to cross the one-way road to the old two-story building on the opposite bank. The always imposing posture left clues to its viewers about decades of a successful career for a woman from the criminal investigation. Putting the handle of a heavy workbag on her shoulders, Goldstein hastened to follow her superior to the inner environment of the local police district.

    It was inevitable for both new arrivals to compare the somewhat old decor of the police station with that of the modern, monochrome public building situated in the English capital. Under the two pairs of women's boots the shrill grinding of the aged wood heralded the presence of the two visitors to those responsible for the buzzing of the small reception room. Seated behind worn-out wooden desks, two very young officials moved their fingers very skillfully to scan stacks of documents and bulletins of small occurrences, time and again raising their eyes from the computer screens to direct them curious glances at regular intervals.

    At the back of the hall, in front of what should have been the door to his office, a tall man with a strong and confident posture watched with interest and respect the approach of the President. Beside him, leaning against the faded yellow wall and partially hidden by his broad shoulders, a short woman shrank in well-lined dark velvet garments.

"Mr. Scamander." - the eldest woman pronounced, cordially - "I'm Seraphina Picquery and this is Porpentina Goldstein. I believe you are waiting for our arrival."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." - and he aimed for polite handshakes - "Maybe you'll feel more comfortable in my office."

    As she approached the room to which she was being guided, Goldstein could see the eyes and the tearful features of the black woman who remained motionless in her original position. She wore an elegant black dress and high-heeled sandals that, still useful to disguise the difference between her height and those belonging to the other occupants of the environment, were not able to make her as slender as her spectator. The dark brown eyes, outlined by the prominent eyelashes on her face, were kept fixed on the strident boards to the ground and seemed to hold no pretense of being diverted to any other spot in that enclosure. In her silent analysis, despite that sad countenance, Tina saw in that woman a singular beauty.

"You've made a good trip from London to Castle Combe, I expect." - said Theseus Scamander, the police district's delegate, as informed by the plaque rested at his desk.

"Goldstein, as well as a registrar, is an excellent driver." - Picquery laughed gently, but soon her always serious countenance was back to her face - "We shall be brief, Mr. Scamander. You must have been informed that the Ministry instructed us to gather information about the burglary of one of the locomotives of the local railroad station."

    With a sigh released after moments of silence and pondering, the man whirled around in his swivel chair to reach the stack of files on the counter in the back of his office. Contrary to the silent and particular expectations of the youngest woman, he took in hands the finer one, which contained only a few white leaves between its transparent cover.

"The burglary of the Seven Chambers..." - Theseus murmured, placing on the table the file of great interest to the criminal investigator -" A locomotive as old as popular, adapted for the transport of any cargo destined for London. "

    In an anxious but careful movement, Picquery brought to her hands the containing of all the facts about the occurrence. The very dark, analytical eyes followed with interest each of the lines there scanned. Beside her, alternating her gaze between the documentation and the man of pensive expressions on the opposite side of the furniture, Goldstein skillfully guarded all the simplest informations provided by the words of Theseus Scamander.

"It was New Year's Eve, precisely at eleven o'clock. My staff was told by an official at the railroad station responsible for checking the cargo that the last wagon, instead of containing coal from the Leeds extraction areas, was found with signs of burglary and a few pounds sterling bags scattered about the compartment."

    Tina felt her eyebrows rise involuntarily as she heard the final half of the delegate's speech. Considerably more interested in the occurrence than before, she risked a discreet glance at the woman beside her, in time to see Picquery turn her subtly narrowed eyes from the printed pages to the man's taut, haughty posture.

"There were no traces or clues on the spot that could lead us to an immediate suspect, Madame Picquery." - Theseus snorted audibly, and in his frustrated face a clearly embarrassed blush made itself present - "In the evaluation of the scene of occurrence, all the information collected led only to the hypothesis that there had been theft of an indeterminate amount of pounds sterling from a mysterious origin." - the man finished his sentence, resting his tensed back against the chair - "I apologize to the Ministry for the null development of the case. During these two days since the incident, we've sought information on all the ways we were able to, but security cameras failed to record images of the wagon that night and no employee reported witnessing abnormal moves during that day."

"That's enough for now." - and the woman closed the documentation folder in a snap, rising to her feet in an instant - "I, on behalf of the Ministry, will take over the investigation from now on."

    In synchrony, the other two occupants of the office rose to accompany the criminal investigator on her walk to the door of the small, quiet room. She carried firmly clasped to her chest the slightest evidence of the burglary of the Seven Chambers locomotive.

"I'd like you to accompany us on a visit to the railway station, Mr. Scamander." - Picquery stopped in her tracks to turn to the taller man among those present in the district reception - "I'd like to see the locomotive as well as recognize possible escape routes for the criminals."

"I must take you there tomorrow morning, if you don't mind." - he cast a quick glance at the tearful woman, now seated on a small, worn-out leather couch, forgotten at the far end of the hall - "My wife and I must attend a funeral in a few hours."

"My condolences, Theseus." - the older woman murmured, in a hushed, contrite voice, as she analyzed the couple's silent mourning - "Family loss?"

"A close friend." - the man murmured, afraid that his voice must reach his wife's ears to straiten even more those painful expressions on her face - "Percival Graves was an important man for Castle Combe, loved and admired by many, and his death was part of the shocks for the city on New Year's night."

"A difficult start to the year, I imagine. I'm really sorry." - Picquery voiced her most sincere feelings before extending her hand once more to a second cordial gesture - "We will do our best, Mr. Scamander."

    In a polite, silent nod, Goldstein added the clatter of her own pair of boots against the ground to those already audible, belonging to her company, on a brief walk back to the car parked on the main street. In the cloudy sky, distant grunts announced the approach of a voluminous and expected rain for that late afternoon.

    As she settled down once more to the previous seat of the ministerial vehicle, the youngest woman turned the bundle of keys to the dashboard under the discreet and somewhat contemplative look of the criminal investigator.

"You're quiet, Goldstein."

"Am I allowed to ask questions?" - the contained voice made itself heard for the first time and Seraphina turned her eyes to the buildings around the concrete floor to hide the smile of amusement on her lips.

"You're allowed to take me to the Manor House and then take the day off." - she watched the pale and agile hands of the woman in her maneuvers behind the wheel, raising an eyebrow in challenge - "What harm can your questions do to me?"

    Under the curious attention of pedestrians and residents to the windows of their houses, the car made its cautious and unhurried descent down The Street. With fingers clenched around the gearshift, Goldstein swept her eyes through the medieval setting before depositing them over her companion's sternly serene face.

"First of all, I want to know the reason for us to stay in this city indefinitely."

"We will stay here indefinitely because there is no evidence or apparent outcome for the locomotive burglary." - Picquery answered, in her voice a truism that brought bitterness to the feelings of her listener.

"How could this be the reason when you rented me a temporary home at Castle Combe even before we left London and found out here about the absence of evidence, less than an hour ago?" - the youngest retorted. Again, concentrating precisely on guiding the car on a narrow curve, she didn't noticed another discreet smile appear, this time ephemeral and quite fragile, in the features of the other.

"I thought it would do you some good to spend time with him now that you're here." - she shrugged and could hear the nasal laughter of her assistant.

"Do you really want me to believe you and the Ministry are worried about my relationship?" - she arched her eyebrows, the amused smile on her lips reflecting on those pertaining to her viewer.

"We care about the welfare of all our employees." - Picquery murmured, shrugging once more. She didn't care about the surreality with which that answer would reach the ears of the other. She knew Goldstein wouldn't buy it, anyway.

"I also want to know the reason for me to be a registrar." - Tina asked again, after a few seconds of silent consideration - "And the reason for me not to be allowed to ask questions."

"You know everything you need to know. We have come from London to investigate the burglary of the Seven Chambers, Goldstein." - Picquery regained the seriousness in her voice, noting the imposing structure of the hotel in which she would remain lodged for the next few days between trees and deep green mosses - "Do absolutely everything that is said to you to do, and absolutely nothing else."

    Resigned in her silence, Tina watched the slight movement of the black woman's elegant robes all the way through the well-tended plots of the luxurious building, until it disappeared through the dark wood doors. She reflected on the information provided by Theseus Scamander all the way back to the center of the small town. Her dark, tired eyes turned involuntarily to each of the faces that accompanied her passage in search of one in particular.

 

    She parked the car in front of a small house, at the end of one of the streets on the outskirts of Castle Combe. It was somewhat modest and rested, silently, at the end of a series of very similar ones. Behind the very low wall of its front, the open-air corridor had a flat, green, uniform lawn and extended widely to a rear area of the residence, out of the reach of the woman's eyes, only to die at a low hill that gave away to the beginning of a small forest of orange and red trees.

    In a rush to hide herself from the heavy raindrops of the rain, Tina urgently carried the luggage to the front door. She quickly turned the key in the lock and fumbled for the nearest switch so she could finally lay her eyes on her temporary residence.

    She did not care about the old furniture already set up by the tenant with the silent echo of a distant clock, hidden between the dusty decorations, nor with the absence of personality in the pictures of flowery fields hanging from the yellowed wall. For someone who had been away from the power of naming "home" a place for a long time, a bit of individual space was more than enough.


	2. Iron and steel.

"As you can see, there are several possible escape routes for the criminals." - Oliver, one of the officers at Castle Combe's police district, turned on his heels to gesture to his listeners.

    Beside the railroad tracks, the low, faded lawn clutched the steep ramp beside the locomotive and ran until it was lost in view under the ever-grayish sky of Wiltshire County. Now and then a fruitless tree stood out in the solitude of that dark, mysterious edge of the city. Seven Chambers stood strangely silent and immobile to match that scene, just like a gigantic monster of iron and steel, so imposing and yet so vulnerable.

    With the notepad in hand, Tina Goldstein made quick notes about information gathered on the crime scene and hypotheses that were projected from her own mind. Beside her, Picquery busied herself into observing closely the broken-into wagon of the gigantic black and orange locomotive in the company of Theseus.

"Just over two hundred and fifty thousand pounds were found in the wagon. We believe there was some unforeseen event and the criminals were not able to finish unloading the bags in time." - Theseus confessed yet another hypothesis created by his team.

"I'd like to know the origin and destination of the locomotive, Theseus, just as I'd like to meet the person responsible for finding it in its abnormality, after the crime." - The woman walked over to Goldstein to observe the progress of the notes.

"Seven Chambers is a historical property of Castle Combe, Madam Picquery. The locomotive always leaves from the city to the industrial centers of the capital." - said the delegate again - "As for the boy, I think there will be no difficulties in establishing the meeting."

    In a slight nod by the speaker of the small group, the other three pairs of eyes turned, interested, to the building at the edge of the railing. Anchored to one of the concrete pillars painted in gray and very dark green paint, the young man observed, rather suspiciously, the movement carried out by the quartet of authorities.

 

"I decided to do the check instead of Francis, sir. I planned to go home earlier that night." - the boy's voice trembled in the center of the small room.

    Sitting in one of the aged wooden chairs belonging to the rest room of the railway station staff, the young man played with his thumbs nervously under the questioning looks directed at him. His hair was blond and his skin covered with a red of shyness. On one of the arms of the small sofa set there, the notebook resting momentarily on her thighs, Tina Goldstein kept her eyes wandering blurred by the narrow, thin back of the interviewee. He was only a boy of little more than fifteen years, for whom it was valid to feel a little compassion.

"I swear by my mother that I did not see anything or anyone. All I know is that the wagon was broken into and full of money when I found it." - he finished, raising his bulging, worried eyes to the man and woman standing in front of him.

"It was expected to find a charcoal shipment from Leeds. Could you confirm the information, Antony?" - Picquery questioned, arms crossed in front of her body to take a step toward the boy.

"Three tons, ma'am." - he sighed, defeated - "The men worked a full day to fill that wagon."

"There were no signs of coal, Madam President." - Oliver remarked, rising from his chair to join the investigator and the local sheriff - "The criminals have vanished with the charge."

"They disappear with a load of a full day's work and no one notices anything?" - Picquery could not contain the sarcasm in her voice and Antony's cheeks turned scarlet red - "What kind of surveillance do you do here?"

"At the end of the nights, the older staff always take shelter from the cold here in this room. Never before has Castle Combe faced burglaries." - Antony shrugged, his voice growing lower with each word - "I'm just a new hire, ma'am."

    Accustomed to the meaning of every little expression on the furrowed face, Tina did not need much thought to know exactly what issues hung in the deep thoughts of her superior. She made an involuntary and frenzied drumming of the pen on the page containing her inscriptions to contain the pinching impulse to manifest herself audibly.

"No records of the cameras system, Theseus?" - the woman's voice returned to the silent environment.

"We checked everything when we made space recognition. The rear of the locomotive was out of reach of all six cameras in the station."

"Intentionally?" - Picquery narrowed her eyes.

"The positioning of the cameras is fixed, Madam Picquery. There is no possibility of change positions to be made. "- the timbre of the second female voice was heard for the first time.

    In the ears of the other four occupants of the place, the echo from the quieter corner of the room was enough to cause them a little jolt amid the atmosphere of tension that laid there. In her always silent and inanimate stay, the presence of the woman was easily forgotten among the poorly arranged decor. Under Seraphina Picquery's slightly narrowed gaze, the youngest girl lowered her eyes reluctantly to the trail of blue paint contrasting with the white material on the notebook.

"I think we have everything we need, Antony." - Picquery said, after a heavy breath - "Off you go."

    They watched the hoarse dragging of the chair to the floor and the boy's clumsy walk until he came out through the rusted metal door. Vaguely following the murmurs shared by the other three members of the investigation team, Goldstein busied herself depositing her work material safely in the folder she carried.

    Behind the round lenses of the sunglasses she wore, the woman took quick, discreet glances at every face turned toward the group on their way back to the official vehicles. Lying in her passenger seat for the second time that day, Seraphina Picquery took up again the scanned documents of the Seven Chambers' burglary and the papers with her assistant's recent notes.

"Misappropriation of money." - Tina murmured, her palms sliding behind the wheel for the ministerial automobile finally turn its back on the railway station - "And an unexpected robbery."

"Very well planned, by the way." - the older one reiterated, following the path of her own index finger towards the end of the inscriptions in cursive - "We are not dealing with beginners on either side."

    Carefully guided by the curves of the rain-battered asphalt of the previous night, the car entered alleys of the small, quiet medieval town just to become the center of attention in its parade. The driver's blinking, anxious brown eyes, diverted to every corner of the way, slightly amused the ever-serious expressions of her company's face.

"You know where to find him, Goldstein."

"I don't think I should do it." - she confessed after a small, silent pause - "I don't think the distance has done us any good, Madam Picquery."

"You must talk to him. Moving from London to Castle Combe may have been a difficult decision for him, Tina."

    In involuntary gestures, the woman clamped her lip between her teeth and pressed her pale, thin fingers around the steering wheel with an exaggerated force. She felt light and uninterrupted pangs of pain in her head with the stirring of thoughts in her mind. Deciding she had no merits to worry about personal life issues at that moment, in an attempt to stifle the growing unease in her own stomach, Tina remained silent for the rest of the journey.

"I look forward to your visit tomorrow, so we can discuss the hypotheses." - said Picquery. In the distance, among towering pines and gray clouds in the sky, the luxurious Manor House gleamed its lights between well-polished windows.

"Do you think they're still in town?" - Tina could not help but ask her most uncomfortable doubt.

"I think there's a possibility. Theseus Scamander isn't the only one working with uncertainties around here, which is why it isn't safe to show the world our faces, Goldstein."

    Tina avoided seeking too much clarity about that last confession, she knew exactly which of her doubts such a sentence fitted in response. Five years of work with the President of the Investigations Department assured her enough experience to state that Seraphina Picquery was a woman of few words and many riddles. They did not assure, on the other hand, that the youngest woman would love to work in the dark, like a puppet manipulated by the ropes of her superiors. Porpentina Goldstein was born to run.

"Why do I get the impression that you're always one step ahead of us all?"

"For a simple registrar, you ask good questions." - she blinked amusedly, leaving a husky laugh to her closed lips before beginning her walk toward the hotel.

 

    The hand responsible for the dull echo of the car door being gently closed remained motionless on the freezing surface longer than enough. Through the droplets of dew lodged on the glossy surface, the dark-haired woman stared at her own stunned expressions in a vain quest for relief from the dancing sensations in her gut. If she looked away to the image reflected on the darkened glass of the car, she could clearly visualize the facade of the very white-walled house located in the center of Castle Combe.

    She spun on her heels to climb the two single steps in front of the darkened wooden door and reach for the bell switch adjacent to the post office. She flipped the object twice before applying the pressure it needed to make a raucous noise ran through the interior of the building. She was not sure if the muffled thudding that reached her ears was caused by the ever-closer strides or by the slightly unbalanced pace of her beats.

    With the soft ranger of the doorway, awakened from her reveries, the woman set her eyes on the tall, strong figure of the man with messy hair and rosy cheeks for the first time in months.

"Tina?" - the whisper of surprise was heard in the silence of the outside world.

"Hey." - Tina stared into the dark eyes of her spectator. The tired face gave her the impression that the man had aged many years in a few months - "You don't mind if I come in, do you? It's a little chilly out here."

The man felt his mouth open and close several times in his inability to hiss at any words as he watched the slim, rather tall figure of the woman make her way through the living room of his residence. She was almost like a ghost, a very old memory of a prolonged youth. He had had a few good dreams with that woman by the time he had stayed away from the capital and the ever-cold corridors of the British Ministry. But seeing her so clearly and distinctly from his illusions, he feared he would have to experience the nightmares that accompanied him most of his nights.

"Damn it, Tina, you..." - he searched for the right words to say, closing the door cautiously, never losing the feminine silhouette of his eyes - "You're here! I didn't-"

"Didn't know I was coming?" - she forced a small smile - "I left a message on your answering machine. I left too many messages since the end of the year, if you want to know."

"I'm sorry about that, Tina, we've been a bit busy here..." - he buried his cold fingers through the short hair on the back of his neck, in a sigh of frustration and shame.

"With flowers, goats, and apple pies?" - Tina laughed, with no apparent humor - "I thought your intention on coming back to the city of your family was taking some time off?"

"Of course that's my intention. But this is a tourist town, Tina, the floriculture has more movement on vacation." - he scanned the girl's bright eyes, silently begging her to understand what he meant to say - "And Castle Combe has been in chaos in the last few days with the burglary of a-"

"I know." - the woman murmured, momentarily disarmed by her companion's frustrated features - "Madam Picquery is here to gather information about the robbery, I can feel the heavy atmosphere hanging over this city."

"You here for work, then?" - he asked, eyebrows rising simultaneously.

    Seraphina Picquery's voice echoed one of her recommendations in Tina's mind and she avoided surrendering to the man's analytical gaze.

"I'm here to see you because you've got me worried." - Tina sighed, hugging her own body unconsciously - "You don't answer messages, you don't keep in touch, you don't share the things that bother you. You don't even share the reasons for that separation to me."

"I need some time away from the Ministry, Tina. I need some time away from everyone."

"Everyone?"

    Tina dealt with the strange grip on her chest for the instants in which the man's dark eyes wandered over the full extent of the details of her face. She watched him take the necessary steps to stand in front of her, the expressions being strangely taken by a small tender smile.

"You know I have everything I need when you're close to me."

"And yet you prefer moving to another city without leaving a single note! And yet you don't return my calls, you don't send me news!" - Tina risked a step back, her voice becoming unbearably sharp - "How do you expect me to believe you?"

"Some things are simply out of our control, Tina." - he snorted tiredly. He hated arguments. He detested them even more with Tina Goldstein.

"Talk to me, then." - she begged - "Help me understand what happened to us, Achilles!"

    The man plunged into the dark orbits of his companion briefly. He was more tempted to look closely at all the details of the very pale face. He wrapped the woman's thin waist with firm arms, bringing her to him until both hands were flat on his chest. He had missed the warmth of the tall, thin figure against his body, her always red lips against his. He cautiously placed a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

"Please, don't make me relive the mess I am when you're not around." - Achilles laughed lightly, staring at the woman's astonished features - "Just let me make it up for all this time..."

"Our conversation is not over, Achilles. I'm not convinced." - Tina's voice sounded steady and the boy found it amusing, resting his forehead onto hers.

"You've cut your hair... Do you know that you look extremely beautiful when you're angry?" - he teased playfully, just to watch her roll her eyes.

"Do you know you look extremely predictable when you're trying to get away from an argument?"

"And waste the moment you're here with this?" - he gave her a croaked smile - "I'd rather flirt with my girlfriend, thank you so much."

    Before the woman's lips were kept away from his any longer, in a choice of words that would do them no good, the man took her completely in a long and intense kiss. In a search for air to his lungs, the man descended a trail of wet kisses by the chin and neck of his partner with the certainty that they would make her shiver.

"I've missed you." - the woman's murmur was heard between her trembling lips. On the man's lips, in turn, a triumphant smile was present before they made with the woman's another urgent meeting.


	3. Gaeilge.

In a repetitive back-and-forth movement, the rocking chair on the simple house's balcony creaked in protest to the impulses made by the old lady's feet. The opaque eyes, always almost closed, failed to give her a clear picture of the two silhouettes erected in her front, but the remaining hearing captured all the pair's plans for that Saturday afternoon.

"You go slow, Philipe." - the hoarse, feeble timbre hissed the words with difficulty - "I don't want to know that you've been running around."

"We can't run with them, Grandma." - the little boy replied, resignation was drawn on his face - "And I'll just help with the bath, remember?"

"I want you home before dinner." - the woman interrupted the movement of the chair for a moment, only to make the usual creaking resume its incessant rhythm shortly afterwards - "You'll need to peel some more potatoes for me."

"I promise to bring him back before sundown." - the man spoke, giving a tender smile to the youngest - "So you can share your tasks with me, too. What do you say?"

    The boy smiled, nodding his head positively, and laughed as he felt his short hair being messed up by the other's hands. He quickly deposited a small, worn backpack on his shoulders and hastened the man to the beginning of his long awaited walk. Amid the audible rustling of the treetops surrounding the building, the childlike voice stood out in its uninterrupted chattering as it moved away from the wailing ranger of the chair.

"Aren't you forgetting anything?" - the weak voice of the very white-haired lady showed herself again. There was no sign of annoyance in her worn-out timbre, nor in the discreet smile that twisted the corner of her mouth.

    His face pink and his head lowered in embarrassment, Philipe returned the three small cement steps from the porch to lay a tender kiss on the thin, fragile skin of her cheek and awaken, on her thin lips, a tired laugh.

"See you later, Grandma."

 

 

    Seated on one of the wooden logs that surrounded the stables of the immense estate, the boy sought an ear of raw corn at the bottom of the straw sack to extend to the eager mouth of one of the two Graves' horses. Still wet from the bath, the brown coat glittered in the sunlight of the overcast sky.

    Philipe smiled as the mare gulped gently at the food, sliding the thumb cautiously over the space between the two large brown eyes, where it was painted a very white and narrow spot between the earthy uniformity, to give her a subtle fondness.

"Good girl."

    When an agitated jerk reached his ears, Philipe pressed his eyes shut tightly enough, preceding the icy splashes of water that would leave the garment he wore lightly moistened. He laughed low at the grunts of the man sitting on the barrel at the entrance to the wooden structure of the stable.

"Frank, you're too big for that, buddy." - the man wiped his wet face with the back of his hand, giggling lightly at the clear-eyed look of the lighter horse.

    The little hands held open the sack of corns to allow the animal to place its curious nostrils inside. The boy accompanied, with interest, the movements performed by the eldest to carry out his work.

"Newt, when will they have a puppy?" - he asked.

"I don't think this was a wish of Mr. Graves, Philipe. Caring for a horse requires a lot of money." - Newt replied, turning the log off the hose to stop the flow of water - "And, besides, Zouwu doesn't seem to be too interested in dating our friend Frank."

"But Frank's a nice guy, Zouwu." - the boy stroked the mare's ears, on his face a truly hurt countenance that amused Newt in his silence.

    Newt led the light-colored horse beyond the enclosure, and the animal bent at once to graze the dentition over the growing grass. Philipe, his eyes fixed on the friend he so admired, descended from the wooden frame to follow him into the cool, shady interior of the horses' accommodations.

"If she ever changes her mind, you can pick a name for the puppy." - Newt promised, and the little boy's eyes filled with a rewarding glow.

    The man strode forward, through the dry, pale sawdust lying on the floor of the corridor between the two stalls, to reach the far wall. It was filled and decorated by a series of hooks that supported all the most expensive types of riding accessories, from leather saddles richly embroidered with blue linen to velvety reins of all colors. Philipe, always at Newt's reach, plunged into pondering the time the man took to identify and reach for the least worn saddle among the others. Philipe had the impression that the smell of the material, still fresh as it was, reminded him of a doll.

"When will I have a girlfriend, Newt?"

"You're too young for that, little boy." - Newt forced a scolding tone into his voice, but he couldn't hide the laughter that reached his lips - "There are still many school duties ahead before you think about dating. Or am I wrong?"

    Under the older man's slightly suspicious gaze, Philipe hastened to deny the question with an awkward shake of his head. He felt the cheeks and tip of his nose burn in embarrassment, preferring to look away to observe, as well as his companion, the arrangement of the riding objects.

"And why don't you have a girlfriend?" - he asked innocently.

    Newt paused momentarily, on the tip of both feet, in his quest for the saddle newly assembled by the Graves family. He shook his head briefly, amused by the unprecedented question and apparent lack of preparation in providing for it a coherent answer. On a stronger impulse, his agile, freckled fingers reached for the varnished leather to bring it to his chest.

"When we grow up, we have so much to worry about that things like that are not at all important, Philipe." - Newt grinned at the youngest's interested expressions - "And I'm not lucky either, if you ask me."

"Why?"

"I don't know." - Newt laughed. Was he really reflecting on his record of failures with a twelve-year-old? - "Maybe Frank and I have a bit in common after all... But, now, how about trying this new saddle on a ride with Zouwu?"

    Forgetting at once about the matter in question, excited by the proposal to perform his favorite activity, Philipe strode back to the outside, with the man with amused expressions at his fingertips. The bright, childish eyes observed the already decorated process of the man to place the saddle securely, before being raised to the animal's back.

"You can walk through the enclosure. You know her better than I do." - the man caressed the animal's nose affectionately, and smiled with the neighing directed at him.

"Hey, Newt." - the boy called, frowning in concentration - "You are a very nice guy, too."

    Philipe smiled over his shoulders, urging Zouwu to start a contained trot, and Newt, with a heated chest, smiled to himself.

 

 

"The boy lied, Goldstein." - Seraphina Picquery left the pen awkwardly on the papers scattered at the desk of her accommodation for the third time, that day.

    Tina, seated in the floral tissue chair beside the double bed, watched with little interest the crystals of the luxurious chandelier of the hotel in which the investigator was staying. Her mind worked at a frantic pace to associate potentially conclusive information.

"Someone is lying at the railway station. Of course they would notice if someone was unloading the wagon or filling it with the money." - she straightened her posture. A pin to the neck was beginning to bother her - "Men may even have been paid to transfer the money to the wagon, but perhaps the boy is just a boy."

"We need to check the security cameras, find out all the people who approached the locomotive that day." - Picquery got up to start a walk in circles - "Our goal is to find the people responsible for depositing the money in the wagon. They will take us directly to those responsible for the misappropriation, and these, with a bit of luck, will take us to those responsible for the burglary."

"We're opening up more gaps instead of closing them." - Tina sighed, her head throbbing - "That's a national railroad, President. Money can come from anywhere in the country."

"Then we won't worry about it now, Goldstein." - Picquery watched the sunset through the glass windows - "We'll focus our attention back to the railroad."

    Tina Goldstein followed the direction of her superior's gaze. The mixture of blue, gray and orange tones to the late afternoon sky had always brought tranquility to her eyes. She remembered watching it just like this, back to her childhood in New York, where the tall buildings crushed themselves to accompany the graceful landing of the sun and filled the brown eyes of her most innocent version through the window of a modest Manhattan accommodation.

"Where would you go, Goldstein, if you had committed a crime?" - Picquery's voice broke the silence, and the youngest stared at her.

"Far away." - Tina was quick to reply - "To a place where no one knew my name, my nature or my history."

    A nasal laughter sounded low in the room. Picquery turned on her heels to face the youngest one with serene expressions. Tina restrained the urge to raise her eyebrows in confusion.

"Exactly what I would answer at the beginning of my career." - the older woman approached, holding a tender smile on her lips. She saw a lot of herself in Tina Goldstein and, perhaps for that reason, she had such affection for her - "You have the best mind of a investigator in my Department, Goldstein. It's time for you to start thinking like a criminal."

 

 

    The woman pushed the heavy doors of the bar into the center of Castle Combe to take refuge in the warm and pleasant surroundings from the relatively low temperatures of that early evening. Greeted by the buzzing among the bricks and tables throughout the room, Tina walked, to the beat of a song that was not entirely unknown to her, to the empty stools in front of the counter.

    On that particular day, she felt tired and frustrated like never before after working for hours on paperwork involving the locomotive. She wondered who, among all the people in that city, would be responsible for putting such absurd amounts of pounds on the train, as well as who would be responsible for receiving them in the capital. She also wondered who could have been responsible for discovering such intentions and devising the seemingly perfect burglary of the Seven Chambers. As she analyzed the arrangement of several different bottles of beer on the shelves against the wall opposite the counter, Tina could not control heavy gasps in an attempt to relieve the heavy sensation that sheltered her chest.

"Meredith!" - the repressed tone of voice stood out among the other noises in the room. It belonged to the middle-aged woman hurrying toward the girl propped up on one of the concrete pillars of the establishment- "You're not paid to stay on your cell phone at work!"

    A choleric expression on her face, the woman grabbed the younger's arm to push her toward the wooden counter. In the midst of low, malicious whistles and laughter scattered by the customers, the tall, young woman with long, shiny brown hair paraded for the short distance to the counter. Though she grimaced in dislike on her face and murmured words of low slang amid the heavy exhalations of her breath, she was an extremely beautiful and attractive girl.

"With such a useless payout, you're lucky I don't do worse." - Tina could hear between the whisperings hissed by the girl, before she was standing in front of her - "What d'you want?"

"Your best beer." - Tina didn't care to reciprocate the null sympathy in the stern voice of the other.

    She kept her eyes on the other's movements as she searched for the small container at the back of the refrigerator and the bottle opener resting on the counter. Sneakily, another young woman with a face very similar to Meredith's approached the scene.

"Is mother fighting with you again?" - and balanced on the round tray thatshe carried small doses of tequila - "Behave, Meredith, or she'll end up putting you out again."

"And you think you can hold me here for how long?" - Meredith resumed the series of uneducated grunts - "Any corner is better than living this hell."

    With abrupt and rude movements, the attendant removed the metal cap and deposited, with a thud, the small, beige bottle on the well-polished surface of the counter in front of the short-haired brunette. She stood for a few seconds observing the unknown physiognomy of her client, by the time it took her to conclude that no resident of Castle Combe had ever lavished such dark hair.

"You're the London woman everyone's talking about, aren't you?" - Meredith spread her hands on either side of the bottle, giving Tina a look as contemptuous as it was curious.

"I'm used to being 'the woman of the United States,' which is pretty obvious." - Goldstein wrapped her fingers around the icy glass. Her observer narrowed her eyes and Tina wished to know the thoughts that ran through her mind - "Your definition is at least interesting."

"Meredith!" - the thunderous scream echoed through the establishment for the second time, and the girl could only return the intense gaze to the determined face of the visitor before stepping away, snorting audibly.

    When the thin, slender silhouette of the woman disappeared from her eyes, Tina set about examining the colored label on the beige bottle. She appreciated the soft descent of the liquid down her throat, finding Irish beers better tasting than the British, and began to reflect on the question posed by the employee.

    She couldn't pretend not to have noticed the attention received by the ministerial automobile in all its promenades in the quiet streets of Castle Combe in the last two days. But in a silent pondering, she wondered if Meredith had made a mistake by confusing the two new visitors to those regions and doubted the ability of the citizens of the small medieval city to pass on accurate information.

"Is it difficult for someone from the big city?" - a relatively close male voice caused the distracted woman to startle.

    Occupying the nearest stool, partially hidden under a fringe of disordered light hair, the relatively young man kept his eyes fixed on the bottle resting on the wooden counter. He had a naive, perhaps sympathetic, smile on his lips. So quick was his question that Tina had the impression she had not listened it properly.

"Excuse me, what did you say?" - and she witnessed very clear eyes turning quickly to her face, before he gradually became flushed.

"Moving to a town like Castle Combe, I mean."

"I'm afraid I'm not the best person to answer your question. I'm used to changes." - Tina flashed a small smile - "But I confess I've had better experiences..."

    They heard the sounds of the heels crashing against the ground on a brisk walk. This time, already accustomed to these repetitions, Tina wasn't curious to look up to confirm the approach of the young attendant.

"What do you want, Scamander?" - Meredith hissed, a little bored. In a quick, unconscious movement, Tina could not help but divert her eyes from the bottle to the man at her side.

"An Irish for me, too, Meredith." - and waited patiently for the attendant's return with the beer in hands - "Thank you."

"You're the brother of Theseus Scamander." - Tina did not hesitate to communicate her most obvious observation.

"Youngest." - he smiled shyly before bringing the bottle to his lips - "You must have been transferred from the capital to Castle Combe's police district, I suppose."

"I'm just a registrar of passage through the city." - the woman sighed, sadly - "My work here is done, but I'm taking some time to spend it with my boyfriend, before returning to London."

"You're Achilles Tolliver's girlfriend, then..." - Newt also had no doubt in his realization, forcing a small smile.

    Tina still hated being conditioned to the usual tightness in her chest every time she had heard that name in recent months. Feeling slightly resigned to remembering the empty, slippery dialogues shared by her companion the night before, the woman merely nodded silently.

    Distracted by another long gulp of the icy liquid, she did not notice the slight detachment of the boy's once lively features before his head hung discreetly on his chest. Instantly interested in a loose thread of the jeans material from his pants, Newt merely lifted his strangely bent posture to turn in the bitter contents of the bottle at regular intervals. Finding her momentary amusement foreclosed, the woman searched for a few pounds sterling notes to deposit on the counter next to the empty bottle.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, sir..." - Tina turned to the silent man and waited a moment for him to answer the implied question.

"Newt."

"I'm Tina, Tina Goldstein." - she gave the man one last friendly smile - "See you."

    Also, that night, Tina did not notice that she was observed by the slightly sad light irises all the way to the doors of the establishment and Newt, plunged between some personal ponderings and disappointments that burned his stomach for the second time that day, did not noticed that the dynamics set up between the two single occupants of the stools near the counter was discreetly observed, in the distance, by a pair of interested, malicious and considerably machiavellian dark eyes mixed with the crowd.


	4. A thread of flowers.

A bell of winds swayed, in the balance of a light morning breeze, hanging from the porch of the small house. Its translucent crystals collided with each other to emit a relaxing melody in Tina's ears. Seated at a narrow, round table, drawn to one of the corners of the living room, the woman unconsciously waved the coffee in her mug while kept her eyes focused on one of the headlines in the local paper.

    It was the daily of a few days before, found on one of the cabinets of the Castle Combe police district. It had lines of information already decorated by Tina along with an image of the locomotive to announce its recent violation. For the woman, the small picture at the bottom of the page made an unfair and insulting reference to the imposing structure belonging to Seven Chambers.

    With a weary sigh, Tina lowered the paper to rest it beside her small notebook. She sipped the warm liquid in her hands, enjoying the sensation of the pleasant bitterness to her palate. She was frustrated with the disjointed scribbles on the yellowed paper and the gaps to be filled in with the names of possible suspects she hoped to identify through the filming of December 31, on the railroad camera system.

    To the back of that same page of the local diary was a tribute concerning the death of Percival Graves. It filled a full page, describing his political, cultural and philanthropic achievements to the town of Castle Combe, and was decorated by some photographs scattered among its columns. In them, a middle-aged, partially gray-haired man with a rather handsome square face stood alongside other respected personalities at lavish events and benevolent auctions in the capital. Tina was surprised to discover Percival Graves a younger, more elegant man than her mind had ever imagined.

    One of the crystals of the bells of winds reflected in the woman's brown eyes, for a moment, the sunbeams of that partly sunny morning. Tina filled herself with tranquility as she peered out into the backyard of her house, the lonely wooden bench resting beneath a low lamppost, through the curtain of the large glass door. Yellow and red flowers tangled among the transparent, gold-soiled linen threads of that fabric in a simple and singular beauty. In certain moments of distraction, just like that, they brought to the woman's lips an unpretentious smile.

    Tina felt uncomfortable taking on her own unconsciousness the unavoidable and recurrent detachment from everything that had once been familiar to her. Amid the ever-steady feeling of dislocation, Tina could tell that she was beginning to gain some strange sympathy for all that unusual decoration.

 

 

 

    The old clock pendulum worked to reach numbers of the early afternoon of that day. Amidst the stillness of the dining-room, between furniture and objects passed down from generation to generation to members of that well-respected family, discreet and silent movements were drawn by its two single occupants.

    The man brought to his mouth the glass containing an already much consumed amount of red wine, letting the sweet liquid flow gently down his throat once more. He stared at the remnants of his meal on the crockery before the almost inaudible tinkle of a second set of silverware clamored for his attention. The bright fork slid through untouched food with no apparent interest in random patterns as the woman's dark eyes were fixed, motionless and unfocused, on the darkened wood of the oak table. There she was again, silent and closed in on her own thoughts. Amongst the cascades of dark, long, shiny hair lay the exhausted, dejected face with which Theseus Scamander found it impossible to learn to live.

"Your silence is killing me, Leta."

    If the man could have foreseen that such simple words would be capable of causing his companion an involuntary jolt, or would bring to the dark and unfocused eyes the morbid glow of accumulated tears, he might have thought a little more before hissing them.

"Never say anything like that again!" - Leta scolded. Her voice sounded a little shaky, and the silverware slipped through her fingers.

"Hey, I'm just joking." - worried features writhed beneath his pale hair. He raised his arms in surrender before tentatively reaching for his wife's hand - "What I mean is that we can't mourn for his death forever, darling. It's not healthy for any of us."

"It's not because of him that I'm crying, Theseus."

    The man's eyes stared at the distorted face of his wife's suffering as he swallowed, with bitterness, the harsh timbre of those words. He didn't feel offended by the woman's avoidance, however. Those were difficult times for everyone.

"If this feeling costs all your peace, you should pay her a visit."

    Leta absorbed Theseus' words with a significantly pain in her stomach. She was even more unhappy to know that she was incapable of containing the mess of uncomfortable sensations in the depths of her being. Why had she gotten used to retaliation?

    Maybe she really should pay her friend a visit. She wondered, mentally, if everything could still, one day, be like old times.

"I'm not hungry." - she said at last, dragging the varnished chair back to get to her feet.

    Theseus watched, rather regretfully and disconsolately, one more of the abrupt exits of that little figure. Before the fabric of her dark suit disappeared through the dimly lit corridor of the house where they dwelt, the man hoped that the most desperate request of his intimate would be heard between walls of never-so-silent environments.

"I just want the cheerful woman I fell in love with back..."

    Leta tightened her eyes closed with too much force to mask the sting in her eyes. She had to act. She had to rely on the few things that still brought her hope for better days. She marched, more determined than she imagined, and yet less confident than she had expected, toward the stairs that would lead her to their room. She wanted, more than anything else, that everything could be just like old times.

 

 

 

"Before the military academy, my specialty was poker, Miss Goldstein. I was famous in my hometown and I never found anyone who made me lose a match." - Oliver said, with a wistful smile on his face - "But they say the work breaks the habit, and I believe it faithfully."

"I used to win every game of bowling while living in the capital." - Benjamin, the second officer at the Castle Combe district, interfered with the conversation set by the other two occupants of the reception.

"You can't even hit the bin here, Ben." - Oliver sneered and the room filled with laughter - "How do you expect us to believe that?"

"If you hadn't been so drunk at our date in Chippenham, you would know I'm telling the truth."

    For a few fleeting moments, the only laugh echoed in the police district in that monotonous afternoon for the town of Castle Combe belonged to the woman sitting on the leather couch. The dark brown eyes gingerly swept the well-demarcated expressions on the faces of both men behind the work desks. Oliver, pale as milk, kept his eyes wide on the computer screen in front of him. Ben, his cheeks flushed like never before, hardly seemed to notice that his lips were open to form a perfect circle.

    Oliver's frightened eyes flashed alternately between Benjamin and Tina's faces in silent despair. Perhaps for this reason the man missed opportunities to infer that the nature of the slightly blushing face of the american woman had nothing in common to those he had already painfully decorated at moments like that. In an unobtrusive attempt to provide her colleagues with a moment's privacy, Tina glanced down at the pile of papers on Benjamin's desk, hearing Oliver's nervous laugh to break the silence between the three of them.

"You're not winning Miss Goldstein with this conversation." - Oliver finished, taking the next document to be digitized.

    Benjamin's clear eyes rose to the embarrassed face of his co-worker, his own face was contorted in remorse. He swallowed hard before mimicking the other's activity, searching for the briefcase at the top of the pile rested on his desk. Benjamin found himself unable to decide whether his greatest desire was to get accustomed or not to be accustomed to Oliver's constant behavior in situations like that.

"I don't want to win Miss Goldstein..." - he murmured to himself.

    Instantly interested in the arrangement of words in darker black ink to the white paper resting on the desk and the plastic containing blue medication at its side, Tina was guided by the curiosity of taking it into her hands.

"Ah, the death certificate of Percival Graves." - Ben cleared his throat, before continuing his attempt to establish a new conversation between them - "It has recently arrived from the autopsy. We must take it to his wife, Mrs. Eberdith Graves."

"And what are the capsules?" - Tina asked, moving the little blue medicines between her fingers.

"Medications for pressure control. Medical examiners found one of the capsules in Mr. Graves' intestine, partially digested, and they wanted to make the comparison between the substances to confirm the cause of his death." - said Oliver - "A fatal hypertensive peak it is, lamentable for someone who had been treating hereditary hypotension for years."

    Tina released a small, hoarse noise from her throat in accordance, distracted by the lines scanned in the document in her hands. To the top of the paper, colored in blue, was the coat of arms of the Society of Legal Medicine at the University of Birmingham, followed by the date of the second day of that January. There was a markedly darker tone in some words than the other in the main text, ' _acute hypertensive picture_ ', ' _intracranial hemorrhage_ ' and ' _tyramine_ ' in a sequence which the woman didn't consider to understand. Tina only regretted the misfortune of Percival Graves.

    By the discreet noises of the clock hanging on the reception desk wall, the woman realized they were approaching two o'clock that afternoon. Her stomach burned to remind her that breakfast had long since ceased to be enough. Judging from the lack of new information about the case of the burglary of the locomotive, the pacing installed in the lobby of the Castle Combe district and the lack of demands on the part of Seraphina Picquery, taking advantage of the end of that day to undo, once and for all, the trunk with her belongings in her new home seemed like a harmless idea.

 

 

 

    The woman brought the small velvet wallet to her chest as she watched the imposing structure of the mansion. She felt a discreet and strange difficulty in balancing herself on the fine heels, the trembling of wobbly legs spreading all over the small, slender figure. Her dark, well-delineated eyes flashed across the second-floor glazing of the Graves' family estate, as well as those on the first-floor. Distracted by the excruciating pain that gripped her chest as she found all the curtains closed to any new arrivals, in a mute warning that mourning was installed there, she startled to realize that she had reached the front door of the mansion very quickly.

    The long wait for the short-haired lady to appear behind the dark wood was not at all unexpected, nor was the tense, fearful, uncertain and compassionate gaze of those blue eyes.

"I know your best intentions, my dear." - came the older woman's voice, after the heavy and consistent silence of the visitor - "But she still doesn't want visitors."

"I just want to see her, Anna, I promise not to delay." - Leta confessed. She felt the corners of her eyes pinch, wet - "I just want her to know that I'm still here, that I understand her in all her pains and I keep her with my affection."

"That's what we all want." - Anna Baulier sighed, risking a small smile which, if she was lucky, would be comforting. She felt sympathy for the young woman's sorrows - "But I must keep my orders."

"Can you tell me if she's well? Has she been fed?" - Leta's voice broke, two thin trails of tears cooled her cheeks.

"We're doing our best, Leta." - Anna lowered her eyes to the stained apron she wore in her file, no longer smiling - "That's all I can offer for your comfort, child."

    Leta hugged her body all the way through the well-tended flower beds of the Graves estate. Such was her fragility that the woman felt vulnerable to the current of air that was kissing her face to refresh the wet trails on her cheeks. She had a sudden impulse to look once more at the sequence of upstairs windows, but she chose not to.

    If she had been guided by the only thread of courage left, she could have noticed the silhouette that watched her, motionless, through one of those countless windows. She could have corresponded to the hope of her viewer to find, in those profoundly dejected expressions, a legitimate plea for apology.

 

 

 

    On a cautious walk, the figure moved with agility and discretion among the shadows of the suburban constructions of Castle Combe. It approached sneakily from the river that crossed the entrance of the city, in its ears the deafening silence of the early dawn. Time and again, it would cast its eyes over its shoulders, ascertaining whether its journey was watched by someone else. Paranoias of habit...

    Standing to the concrete wall of an abandoned house, partially illuminated by the gleam of a dark moonlight, a second silhouette accompanied its arrival in the gloom of the empty alley. A discreet smile tugged at the corners of the watcher's lips before they let out a provocative murmur.

"You've been four days late."

"You should be happy to see me." - sounded the newcomer's voice, taking a step forward to disappear under the shadow of the building - "Things have gotten a bit more complicated in Castle Combe these past few days."

"I thought you made me a promise."

"I did, and I will keep it."

"Really?" - the watcher asked in a whisper. Their faces were dangerously close - "And what have you been doing for that, then?"

"I'm here, after all." - a muffled laugh echoed low in response to that answer and the newcomer identified disbelief in its nature - "Did you bring what I asked you to?"

"I keep my promises."

    The newcomer stared with satisfaction at the gleaming plastic, a dangerous grin drawing on their face, missing the pleasurable sensation of adrenaline rushing through their arteries like fire. The newcomer faced the machiavellian eyes staring back at them in a minute analysis and knew that they would soon be forgiven.

"This is the last time I tell you: I don't want to live in the shadows any more. I want everything I never had, and you will give me." - this time, the threatening tone didn't fail to make an uncomfortable chill run through the edges of the newcomer - "Because if you want everything, you'll lose everything."

    In that alley forgotten by the moonlight and by the inhabitants of the small medieval town of Castle Combe, sounds were kept low in all their next manifestations during the hours by which the they remained there. No major threat or issue had ever been brought up again between its two single occupants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems like things aren't peaceful at all in Castle Combe!
> 
> Any bets?


	5. Seashells and sky blue.

The long strands of black hair stretched and relaxed in response to the graceful glide of the brush full of seashells. Through the well-polished mirror of the dressing table, honey-brown eyes remembered to find each of them partially buried in the white sand of a distant beach. They reminded the woman of years gone by, when the younger, happier version of herself enjoyed, innocent, the tranquility of the west coast of the United States. It was the only one she had, but it was still her favorite brush.

    Amid the warm embrace of the soft fabric of her robe was the simple necklace that had been given to her in her crib, in the house that she had grown among colored fields. Lifting her eyes to the heavy dark circles beneath the expressionless face reflected in the mirror, Eberdith Graves could hardly believe that the girl with sweet smiles and bare feet running on the sand was still part of her story.

"Mrs. Graves." - the voice of Anna, the housekeeper, sounded muffled on the other side of the bedroom door, after two light beats - "Theseus Scamander has come to see you. He says he must give you the documentation of Mr. Graves."

    The woman felt the uncomfortable bitter taste on her lips as she kept silent, seeking courage within herself to face that inevitable moment. Anna Baulier, propped up at the door in the hall, waited patiently for an answer, as she had done every time in recent days. Eberdith carefully tucked the brush into one of the drawers of the dressing table, she had more value for it than for the expensive jewels she hid in her closet.

"Tell him I'll be down in a minute." - the soft, weak voice of the woman echoed strangely in her own ears - "I have only to dress, properly."

"He brought people with him." - the lady spoke again, a little more alert and afraid this time. She was as close to making progress as she was to risk the return of the youngest woman to isolation - "The capital's investigation team wants to offer you their condolences."

    Eberdith dragged back the stool in which she sat. She looked at the big mirror once more, already accustomed to the grotesque and unrecognizable appearance reflected on its surface, and sighed heavily.

"Then bring them all in. You must serve wine to them."

    Anna turned on her heels and began to walk quickly to the lower floor of the residence. On her pale, tired lips a discreet smile formed itself involuntarily.

 

    The faces of all the four visitors rose simultaneously to the top of the marble staircase as the sound of the strides filled the luxurious living room. In a simple red satin dress, the woman descended one step at a time with customary graceful movements. Tina was surprised to find in the figure of Eberdith Graves an extremely younger woman than she had ever imagined, perhaps she had not yet reached the age of thirty.

"Mrs. Graves." - Theseus said, giving her a respectful nod - "I hope you've done well in the last few days."

    Eberdith merely showed a small smile to her friend. It was not her wish to share to others the natures of the feelings she carried so heavily with herself, nor the routine maladjusted by the loneliness of her last days. She noticed the discreet advance of the black woman standing in front of her and analyzed the face of friendly expressions. The elegant robes gave the criminal investigator a characteristic joviality, but she was clearly the oldest among the two female visitors.

"Mrs. Graves, I am Seraphina Picquery, President of the British Ministry's Department of Investigations." - Seraphina held out a hand to the other, and they shook hands - "This is Porpentina Goldstein, my registrar. We have come to show you our feelings for the important and unfortunate loss to the town of Castle Combe."

"I'm very grateful." - the woman hissed, giving each of the guests a half smile - "Please, sit down. Anna will serve you all a drink."

    The middle-aged, light-haired woman at the bottom of the steps rushed to an adjacent corridor, disappearing from view. Eberdith took as a seat a vacant armchair, facing everyone present.

"I heard the documentation came from Birmingham, Theseus." - she whispered, restrained. She wasn't sure if she really wanted to look at those inscriptions.

"Our hypotheses were correct..." - Theseus could not help but comment, giving the woman the document he had brought with him.

    Eberdith kept her eyes focused on all the lines of the death certificate. Anna Baulier reappeared, hastily, carrying in her hands a tray full of glass goblets, scarlet red colored by the drink they contained. She left one at the hands of Theseus, Picquery, Tina, and Ben, and disappeared again down the narrow corridor.

"I was with him when it happened..." - Eberdith struggled to make the whisper sound audible enough. She felt a habitual burning filling her eyes and a knot pressing into her throat - "We had a fight that night. Percival wanted a glass of wine and he just wouldn't listen to my recommendations. He wasn't allowed to drink alcohol while he was under administration of medicinal products."

    One at a time, the visitors rested the goblets on their own knees. None of them could find the motivations to test the sugary drink as so painful murmurs reached their ears. They kept their attention focused on the disconsolate figure of wet eyes.

"At first I wasn't able to see that something was wrong. Percival had a terrible mania to shake and blush every time he was upset." - the woman pressed her eyes shut tightly and urgently. The statement of death was unconsciously kneaded by her trembling fingers - "When he fell to the ground, convulsing and scarlet red all over his body, I realized that something was wrong. That it was all too much. And it was too late."

    Scary memories filled the woman's mind and startled feelings permeated every cell of her body, piercing her chest in a vain attempt to escape through her swollen lungs. On impulse, Eberdith opened her wet eyes to face her visitors. She cared little for the pairs of eyes that stared at her features with concern.

    For a long moment they kept silent for the woman to recover the stolen rhythm of her breathing. Anna approached, pale on her face, carrying in hands a glass of water. She left on the dark cascades of the youngest hair a simple caress.

"Eberdith, we also need to discuss the issue of inheritance as soon as possible." - Theseus said again - "All Percival's movable, immovable, and financial belongings shall come to your name."

    In the light that flooded the room through the windowpanes, Tina noticed that the dark eyes acquired a liquid and sad luster. Eberdith stared down at her own lap, biting her lower lip as one more tear rolled painfully over the surface of her cheek.

"I can't, Theseus." - Eberdith whispered, faintly - "What Percival has conquered doesn't belong to me."

"I know you're still mourning his death, but you're the legitimate heir of all his properties." - Theseus insisted - "We need you to sign the papers."

"I can't do it, I can't do it now..." - The woman stood up, covering her face with both hands - "I can't..."

    Before any other word could be thrown among those present, the woman started hurrying back upstairs. She climbed the steps blindly, skillfully, and her sobs echoed louder and louder through the walls of the immense estate. Her face pale as never before and her countenance dismantled in sorrowful expressions, Anna Baulier forced a small, sad smile upon the visitors until the sobs were stopped by the thud of a distant door.

 

"That was not the best time to bring in the issue of inheritance, Theseus." - Benjamin murmured.

"I don't need to be reminded of that, Ben." - Theseus replied, bitterly - "But it was an issue to be dealt with urgently. Percival Graves's properties can not remain without a new heir any longer. I just didn't think she would react to it in such a bad way."

    They walked back to the cars parked by the huge fountain at the entrance to the mansion. The circle occupied enough space to accommodate a swimming pool and was decorated in the center by a well-ornamented pillar. From it fell rails of water that splashed, delicate, by those who passed by. That was really a property of absurd dimensions for such a small town and Tina made a complete turn around herself to appreciate the refined taste of that family.

    Located to the east of the entrance of Castle Combe, hidden behind several hills of trees, it wasn't at all distant from her own residence. The mansion laid next to an uniformly green slope covered by grass. On the left side of the two-story mansion was a wide open space which, if Tina's eyes didn't fail her in their function, seemed to be occupied by a large fenced-in courtyard and ended to the top of many reddish trees. Moving in hastily, a black silhouette contrasted to the yellow-green coloration of the pasture to the ground. Tina almost smiled a little at the animal's discreet neigh.

"Ben, you must go back to the police station." - Tina, distracted, was startled to see Theseus overtake her toward the stables - "I'll have a word with my brother."

    Then Tina saw him. The light hair, in the distance, gleamed like golden threads under the sky. He drew steps backward as he led a second horse out of the stables. The animal's fur also shone very brightly against some sunbeams, as well as the hair of the small figure resting on its back. Between the high tones of the words, the laughter and the grunts of animals, the childish voice of a little boy was heard in the distance, with interest, by Tina Goldstein.

"Won't you come?" - Picquery's firm hand rested on the absent-minded woman's shoulder, pulling her out of her contemplations - "Benjamin has already taken the lead."

"Are you going back to the Manor House?" - Tina questioned, starting a walk towards the ministerial vehicle.

"I would like to." - she replied, watching Benjamin's car leaving the property - "Situations with a high emotional content make me worn out."

    Tina drove the car through the narrow streets of the center of Castle Combe to reach the opposite bank of the small town, where the renowned hotel in which the President was staying was located. The muffled weather under the partly cloudy sky of that afternoon was beginning to make Tina regret the choice of the heavy brown linen sweater. She considered the tempting idea of inviting the two police district's officers to an after-work bottle of cold drink.

"Goldstein, I must warn you that I will leave for London tomorrow for a meeting with the investigative team." - Picquery said as the car parked outside the Manor House gardens. There was some fear in her voice.

"A meeting with the team?" - Tina frowned discreetly.

"Travers seems to want to convince the Department that I'm on holidays in Castle Combe while the Ministry handles new cases every day. My presence at the headquarters in those days should be enough to remind him of who I still am." - Picquery released a long sigh in resignation - "He's an ambitious man. I should've known that replacing me in the presidency during my absence would make him wish it was ever-lasting."

    Torquil Travers, Tina hated him. And she knew the feeling was reciprocal. She remembered that the Vice-President of the Department of Investigations had fervently criticized her transfer from the American Ministry to the British, just as he had done every time Tina's appointment was requested in a new case. The thought of seeing him occupying one of the most important chairs of the British Council brought a hateful taste to her lips.

"You must remain here, doing exactly everything that has been said to you to do and-"

"And nothing else." - Tina finished, unconsciously. She repeated this recommendation every day when she woke up and before going to bed.

"Yes, but there's something new I want to tell you, Tina." - the woman's voice sounded a little haunted, and Tina stared at the older woman's expressions - "In those thirty years of my career, my instincts have never failed to bring me the answers for which I have been seeking for. Today, more than ever, they tell me that there is something wrong about this city, about those people we communicate with every day."

    Tina couldn't help the uneasy shiver that ran down her spine for recognizing in that voice a restrained fear she was not accustomed to. A restrained fear that, mixed with Seraphina Picquery's words, she had never thought she could hear.

"And now I'm about to leave you alone for the first time in a place completely unknown to you. That is why I ask you to be careful, Tina, with every word, movement or action." - Picquery begged and finally turned her intense stare to Tina - "Trust no one."

    The black skin beautifully contrasted to the pale one as Picquery reached for the hand at the wheel of the car to give it a sure grip. As if she hadn't left to Tina's mind yet another enigma to be worked on, she smiled cordially before leaving the ministerial vehicle and marching toward the imposing structure of the hotel.

 

    Beats from a song sounded low by the noisy environment of the busiest bar of Castle Combe when the trio entered it that night. They shivered lightly inside their heavy robes and hid their icy hands in their pockets. The establishment was crammed with people in sky blue who didn't seem to care about resting coats and scarves on the back of their seats. The crowds and the drinks scattered around the tables certainly warmed their judges. 

In his clumsy walk through narrow aisles between the chairs, Oliver had crashed with customers of exaggerated laughter a considerable number of times before he could see the always empty stools at the counter. He recognized that uproar in sky blue like no other: City had beaten United in yet another English championship match. He smiled, contented and triumphant, at the boy with curly hair and rosy cheeks coming from behind.

"Red devils, you say?" - he joked just to see the other wince in disgust - "I think we made a bet."

"Just pick your favorite beer and leave me alone." - Ben snapped. It cost him his life not to smile with Oliver's laughter.

    For a moment forgotten by the pair of young men, Tina struggled to keep the splashes of the alcohol-filled cups out of her pair of boots. She couldn't avoid quick glances at the smiles and bright eyes on the faces of her two co-workers, nor could she avoid sigh fondly at the conclusions she had been carrying since the day she had come to that city. It was fascinating, to anyone who watched them closely, how grand the details were drawn between Benjamin and Oliver in such simple displays of affection. Tina wanted to live in a world where something so naive would no longer have to be restrained and smiled tightly at such bittersweet moments.

    In the middle of this busy establishment, the woman only stared at the crooked figure by the wooden counter when she took the vague stool beside it. The indomitable fringe fell over the man's face as he kept his eyes fixed on the paper in his hands. An affectionate smile reached his clear eyes as they wandered, distracted, by the various colors imprinted on the childish draw. The brown irises dragged into the corner of her eyes didn't give Tina a clear view of the reason for such sweetness to the man's face, but she had no doubts about the reason for it.

"Have you come to drink or to arrest the drunks?" - the worker's sharp voice caught the attention of the newcomers. In a gleaming sequined black dress, Meredith leaned over the counter to direct at her customers an amused smile.

"Happy hour." - Ben shrugged, smiling absently at the boy next to him - "Oliver will get York's."

"I'll get one from London too, Meredith." - Oliver said. He watched the commotion of some fans over the replay of the match's best moments into one of the televisions of the establishment.

"I thought the limit for today was of only a bottle?" - Ben raised his eyebrows in a momentary confusion - "And you don't even like that beer."

"I hate it, but you love that crap." - by the lack of understanding in Benjamin's expressions, Oliver pointed to the nearest TV - "Game tie. No one won the bet."

    They exchanged laughter and discreet glances as Meredith deposited two bottles of different labels on the well-polished surface of the counter. The attendant's eyes flashed, interested, into the pale face of the dark-haired woman.

"What d'you want, London girl?" - there was a strange crooked smile in the always unpleasant expressions of the attendant, but Tina said no thing.

"Your best beer."

    Tina received the beige bottle covered by a small layer of ice under Newt Scamander's discreet and measured gaze. He felt a strange and uncontrollable impulse to say something in the presence of the woman, and put the paper safe in the inside pocket of his coat.

"I don't think you're from London, Miss Goldstein." - he said, feeling his cheeks burn slightly as the woman's face turned toward him - "No one in the capital would accept an Irish beer as the best of an English bar so easily."

"I come from a little further than the capital." - she replied, scraping the snowy layer over the bottle with her thumbnail - "Where the pride is wounded because of an oval ball."

"You know your pride will be double wounded here because of it, don't you?" - he teased, glad to hear her light laugh.

"I will survive." - Tina smiled, bringing the bottle to her lips for the first time.

    The woman looked at the many round, rosy cheeks of the customers scattered in the cozy atmosphere for a few moments. The tightness of her fingers wrapped around the cold bottle left her joints reddening against the pale skin. She turned her eyes discreetly to the two mans to her right, the both of them immersed in a conversation full of smiles, before staring again at the one on her left.

    Closely watched, the strands of light hair seemed to have a coloring she'd never seen before. As blond as redheaded, they matched the hundreds of freckles scattered beneath his clear eyes. Tina couldn't tell, in the mid-light of the environment, the exact coloration of the irises belonging to Newt Scamander.

"I saw you today at the Graves mansion." - Tina commented. Newt's eyes flickered together to the feminine face and she could only suspect of a tone between blue and green.

"I'm the caretaker of the family animals."

"Are you a vet, then?"

"No, I'm a zoologist, a little more extensive field." - he smiled at her - "I've got the knack for taking care of them since I was a kid, this was my mother's job. There are not many opportunities to work on zoology in a town like Castle Combe."

"And why not trying other cities? The capital, perhaps?"

"All that is important to me is here, Miss Goldstein. I can't leave my brother, or Philipe, or even-" - Newt interrupted his words, suddenly feeling ashamed of the confession he had been about to make - "Well, many things..."

    The momentary opacity acquired by the grim look he carried didn't go unnoticed by Tina. She watched with interest the man's movements to finish, in a single gulp, the remaining contents of his bottle.

"It's a good reason for not wanting to leave, and I know it very well." - Tina smiled weakly at her own bitterness. Departures and farewells seemed to be endless constants in her history.

    Newt had no doubt that in the few words chosen by the woman were hidden paragraphs of a story that perhaps he should listen to, a story he would love to hear if he ever risked asking for more. But the dark-haired woman was something new to Newt, and he did not think it prudent or wise to make such an invasion.

"Call me Tina."

"Tina." - he nodded, deciding to stand up at last - "I think this is my time. It's as late as it's cold, I hope you don't mind..."

    The woman had the urge to ask the man to stay for a few moments, feeling guilty all over the discouraged countenance now installed in his expressions. Turning quickly on the stool, she threw her colleagues one last thoughtful glance. So immersed in whispered conversations were Ben and Oliver that Tina had no doubt that her exit would pass unnoticed by them.

"Not if you don't mind having company on your way." - Tina ventured, and receiving a small, shy smile as an answer, she sought the last pounds sterling in her back pocket.

 

    They had taken a street perpendicular to the main street of the city. They walked unconcernedly on the narrow asphalt of the lane, no car would bring danger to them in those surroundings. The windows and wooden doors of the brick houses were kept closed to protect their residents from the low, graceful mist falling over Castle Combe. In front of the two faces, under the damp, cloudy sky of that late night, breathing vapors gleamed illuminated by the lampposts.

"Is the boy your son?" - Tina couldn't contain her curiosity.

"Philipe is a youngest brother I've never had."

    The woman found in the man's voice a somewhat affectionate timbre. His features seemed to be struggling not to display an overly exaggerated smile.

"He's been an orphan since the day he was born. His mother died when she gave birth and his grandmother became the only family he has."

"What about the father?"

"No one knows much about Philipe's father. All we know is that he'd never cared for his son during pregnancy, let alone after his birth. Some say the man was just a foreign in the city."

    Removing his hands from the cozy pocket of his coat, Newt sought the paper he had carried with him since the morning of that day. It was a small piece of cardboard, folded in half with great care. He extended the present to the woman, so that she could find beauty in the childish depiction of a tall, thin, rather hairy Newt next to two horses, and a slightly smaller version of himself. Tina felt her chest warm for the first time in many days.

"I do everything I can to show him the world, to give back to him a little childhood and joy." - he kept his eyes fixed on the paper between her fingers - "He loves horses, you see."

"And he loves you too, Mr. Scamander." - Tina smiled, returning the relic to its owner. The ministerial car rested in front of a nearby house.

"Newt." - he corrected, nodding at the small property - "And it looks like you're home."

"I am." - Tina offered a friendly smile, being reciprocated by another - "I think I'll see you around."

"I live by the second street on the left if you need me." - Newt stared at his feet to hide the faint blush in his features - "As they say, 'if you don't meet everyone of Castle Combe in ten steps, try in fifteen'."

     Tina was not able to control low and naive laughter that greatly helped intensify the blush installed on the man's full of freckles face. Involuntary tears gathered in the corners of her bright, dark eyes and made a soft smile appear on the man's lips. More spontaneous laughter accompanied Tina all the time until she was lazily laid over the mattress of her bed and Newt in the few minutes they had taken him to walk through the silent mist back to his residence.


	6. The post.

John Baulier lifted, with some difficulty, the heavy metal door of the shed that served as shelter for his instruments of work. He did not murmur or snort once, he was a man who spared energy with words and preferred to keep them to his work. And how the first servant of the great Graves' mansion had work!

  
    On that Saturday, in particular, he would be a gardener in the morning, a lumberjack at the end of the afternoon, and he hoped that his vigilance would not be requisitioned at night. He wanted, more than anything, a bit of alcohol in his veins. He fumbled for the big pliers for the pruning of the front beds, hoping that his callused fingers would not meet the teeth of an invading animal.

  
    In the distance, camouflaged between the curtains at the window of the room, was the white satin penhoir resting on the absent-minded woman's shoulders. She stood motionless, silent, propped against the window pane. Her dark hair moved quietly to the rhythm of the soft breeze while her eyes seemed to fill in the scene unrolled in the stables, not far from where the man kept his secret observations.

  
    Little did he care about the deafening thud of metallic material breaking against the ground, or the shrieking ranger of the chain wrapping the shed door, ready to receive the padlock. To his ears came only the loud childish laughter and some neighing or another breaking the silence of that house. From the swift strides that his long legs gave him, John reached quickly the first-floor window to see the opaque eyes of the woman being laid on him.

  
"The instrument shed is locked. The padlock password is still the same if you need to open it." - the man said, reaching for a pair of rubber gloves in his back pocket - "Maybe it's time for him to understand that this is no place for the boy."

  
    Eberdith dragged the orbits of her swollen eyes to take, once more, the scene she had just watched. She followed with interest, and at the same time distraction, the small figure brushing the long mane of the lighter horse with amusement. Perhaps, at another time, she had the urge to smile at the realization that there was still life around her, but she felt weak, unable to do so.

  
"It's just a child, John."- she murmured, weakly, pressing against her chest the delicate material of the garment she wore - "They like the horses, they care about them. They may be the only ones who truly do it around here."

  
"But maybe this is not an appropriate time. I can tell Scamander to-"

  
"If the time is not appropriate, I will make sure to do it myself." - the woman's voice sounded louder, but as polite as before - "The stables have always been the happiest place in this house. I want him to stay."

  
    The man looked at the outline of lost expressions on the widow's face, felt in his gut a slight discomfort. Nothing he said about it, as usual. He nodded and sought only to resume the task of covering his long, cold fingers with the rough material of the pair of gloves, just before marching to the lavender bed on the north of the property.

 

 

 

    A small whirlwind made a dozen dry leaves fly on the sidewalk of the white-walled house, lightly moving a few strands of the dark, short hair of the woman standing in it's front. She sighed, looking at the closed curtains through the pane of the living room before staring at the heavy dark wood door in her front. The fortress of Achilles Tolliver seemed to provide the approach of any visitor with an implicit threat.

  
    It did not resemble the small, minimalist, modern apartment, located in the capital, where the man combined the monochromatic decoration with gray carpet and framed pictures of basketball players' signatures that Tina had never heard about. At Castle Combe, however, the disorganized arrangement of objects and the unplanned combination of the Oriental rugs of the living room brought out a personality of her companion that Tina did not seem to know. In one last glance at the white curtain on the windowpane, Tina headed toward the door.

  
    The woman rang the bell and waited for any sign of movement several times. She listened to nothing but the leisurely walk of a passing stranger on the asphalt of the street and her own impatient sighs. Overcome by the obviousness of the man's absence, Tina took a few steps away from the wooden door and soon realized she was not alone in her contemplation.

  
    On a sneaky, suspicious walk, the figure approached the woman. She was a very young woman, with her hair as blond and her face as pale as Tina had ever seen before. She was small and slender and swayed, at the rhythm of light steps, the flowered dress she wore. On the face, two dark irises gazed at the silhouette of the visitor with curiosity and caution.

  
"There is no one at home." - the woman finally said.

  
"That's what it seems." - Tina murmured, sighing quietly.

  
"He left the town last night." - the woman resumed her speech, this time causing Tina's eyebrows to rise in a simultaneous movement.

  
"Achilles left the city?" - Tina questioned and the woman nodded - "Do you know where he went?"

  
"He said nothing, but he left with a suitcase, so he must take a while to return."

  
    Tina frowned. Nothing the man had mentioned to her about leaving the city on their last meetings, and no messages had been left on her answering machine. Tina felt instantly uncomfortable in her gut, just as she had done a few months ago. Was she living it for the second time?

  
"Who asks?"

  
    Distracted by the tightening that began to take hold of her chest, Tina startled at the return of the deep voice of the blond-haired woman. She had approached a few steps, and at that moment her dark eyes stared at Tina's with even more curiosity. The brunette, with no other apparent options, swallowed the knot formed in her throat.

  
"I'm Tina Goldstein, I'm his girlfriend."

  
    Tina cared little for the meticulous analysis that the inquisitive gaze held as it wandered from her feet to the dark strands of her hair. She was beginning to feel ablaze, consumed by anger and frustration caused by the apparent neglect with which she was being treated. Her fingertips were shaking, and she struggled to keep her fists clenched. Tina would not wish that feeling to anyone.

  
"His girlfriend?" - the woman frowned in confusion for a moment, then shrugged - "Well, do you want to leave a message?"

  
"No, thank you." - Tina replied, forcing a small smile on her face - "I must talk to him personally."

  
    Without further ado, the light-haired woman discreetly nodded, preparing to return to the main street. Tina, regaining a question forgotten by the mixture of confused thoughts in her mind, hastened to cry out for the little figure's attention back to her.

  
"Who are you?"

  
"I'm Polydora." - she replied - "His sister."

  
    Polydora gave Tina a half smile before finally turning her back. She continued on her leisurely walk, accompanied by the thoughtful and somewhat hurt look of the american woman, until she disappeared around the corner at the end of the street.

 

 

 

    Benjamin kept his feet rested on the work desk at the end of the day. Waving a pen between his fingers, he concentrated on searching for the six-letter word that would allow him to finish one more page of his cross-words. In his frustration, he would once and again dip his fingers through the lustrous strands of his dark hair.

  
"Sketch made by hand of a paint. Six letters. The first is 'c' and the last one is 'i'." - Ben turned to the woman in the back of the hall. She smelled the faint smoke emanating from a cup of coffee.

  
"Croqui." - Tina shrugged, testing the bitterness of the hot drink.

  
    The man released a content grunt, scribbling the remaining letters. Attracted by the irresistible scent of coffee, Benjamin left the hobby notebook to turn to the american woman.

  
"I heard the President traveled back to London last night." - he said and Tina nodded - "Will she be there for long?"

  
"No, just for a meeting with the Ministry's investigative team."

  
"And you are to remain in Castle Combe?"

"I have no reason to intrude on matters of the Department, so..." - she shrugged - "Yes."

  
    Oliver's strides through the strident ground announced his arrival in the empty, silent lobby of the police station. He carried with him an enormous cardboard box, stuffed with the most diverse sizes of sealed packages. He set it gingerly on his desk, groaning in response to a customary pain in his back.

  
"Post office." - he answered the implied question on the woman's face.

  
"Do you deliver mail?" - Tina frowned.

  
"We check them, Miss Goldstein." - Oliver took the uppermost package. It was barely larger than the size of his hand - "We check if the orders transported are really within the law."

  
"Or whether cell phones are really cell phones." - Ben laughed, getting on his feet under the loud protest of his swivel chair to aid Oliver in his task.

  
"Very fun." - Tina commented, with no apparent excitement, leaving the cup on the coffee machine to approach her colleagues.

  
"It will be even more fun when you join us." - Oliver raised his eyebrows, amused, and gave the woman a thin wrapping.

  
    Tina knew, as soon as she took the beige paper in her hand, that it was a book. She could feel the hard cover through the package and was afraid to dismantle it. One of her favourite sensations in the world was that provided by a new book, wrapped and sealed by a local bookstore. Cautiously, she loosened the seal just enough to see the highlight of the purple cover between the paper, returning it to its original position, right after.

  
    The second package was rectangular, long and heavy. Tina had no opportunity to discover on her own what was hidden behind the white paper. The sticker of a renowned winery in London announced the bottle of red wine that lay in that box. She set it down next to the book, on the cold upholstery of the sofa, and went to the box, where the next packets waited to be selected.

  
    She took the smallest and most obvious of all: a box of medicines, small and light, which stamped the title of a medicine that Tina didn't know. It was not wrapped, or accompanied by any sticker, and contained a few blood-red pills. The woman shrugged, about to leave it on Oliver's desk.

  
"The pressure-control remedies of Mr. Graves?" - Oliver glanced over Tina's shoulders - "They must have forgotten to cancel the shipment of the medicines for this month..."

  
"His remedies?" - Tina murmured, frowning in confusion.

  
"Yes." - Oliver shrugged - "We get them every month."

  
"The pressure-control remedies sent for autopsy were blue, not red." - Tina continued, retrieving the pills and the death certificate in her memory.

  
"That were also medicines for him. New ones, if you want to know."- Oliver said - "They arrived at Castle Combe for the first time last month, and we handed them over to Mr. Graves along with them."

  
"For the first time?" - Tina felt suddenly more interested in the whole matter - "Haven't you ever received those capsules before?"

  
"Never before." - Oliver frowned in confusion, holding out one of his hands for the woman to give him the pills. She kept them on her own, though.

  
"It sounds weird..." - Tina looked at the red pills with interest.

  
"It's true, it seems really weird..." - Ben said thoughtfully - "But we saw the death certificate, they were really for hypotension control. And Mr. Graves waited for them, too. No wonder he found an alternative drug that would allow him to go back to alcohol."

  
    Tina absorbed Benjamin's words in silence, staring at her own feet. He was right after all. The statement's inscriptions were still fresh in her mind: an acute hypertensive disease caused by the administration of tyramine, the blue capsule drug. Tina knew that she lacked knowledge of pharmacology, but she had no doubts about the range of options available in the industry for the treatment of some comorbidities.

  
"Maybe the dosage of the drug was exaggerated." - Ben murmured, sadly.

  
"Perhaps." - Tina finally agreed.

  
"What will we do with the blue capsules, by the way?" - Oliver asked - "Should we leave them in the cabinet until they screw up?"

  
    The thud of the door at the entrance of the police station caused a startle to the trio of staff in the lobby and preceded fast strides. Benjamin seemed to recognize the clatter of the clash between the pair of social shoes and the creaking soil of the building.

  
"I think we can throw them away." - he shrugged, returning to the activity interrupted by the conversation - "But let's ask Theseus, he has just arrived."

  
    The police commander in the town of Castle Combe rushed into the lobby. He had an expression between the amazement and the euphoria in his countenance and a raced rhythm in his breathing. Blushing intensely on his face, the man seemed to have run great distances to get there.

  
"Turn on the television, Ben." - he demanded - "It's everywhere."

  
"What-"

  
"Turn on the television!" - Theseus's voice overpowered the man's.

  
    Without further ado, Benjamin searched for the forgotten control over the wooden cupboard of the reception. Soon the environment was filled with the pleasant voice of the anchor of a TV newscast.

  
"- _who, according to an anonymous report made to the Department of Investigations of the Ministry, would be responsible for sending a sum of fifty million pounds sterling from the city of Castle Combe, in the county of Wiltshire, to London. The investigation team still has no clarification as to the person responsible to receive the money by the railway_." - said the TV newscast host - " _Percival Graves died on December 31st of last year, a victim of an acute hypertensive condition_."

  
"They did it." Theseus murmured.

  
"I don't think I understood correctly, Theseus." - Oliver said, his eyes were still fixed on the TV - "Does it mean-"

  
"Listen." - Theseus interrupted Oliver's questions. Seraphina Picquery's face gained focus on the screen.

  
" _The Ministry has been investigating Percival Graves for months, collecting information and evidence about his illicit activities. One of our employees, Achilles Tolliver, has infiltrated the city to closely monitor the veracity of accusations and of the millionaire transportation made between Castle Combe and London._ " - said Seraphina Picquery. Tina frowned involuntarily at the mention of the man's name - " _Finding a point in common between the misuse of money and the burglary of the locomotive is a major breakthrough for the Investigations Department, but our work is not done yet. Inquiries are open and the responsible still need to be identified_."

  
"Illegal activities? Percival Graves?" - Oliver asked. Tina was discreetly relieved that she was not the only confused in that room.

  
"More than meets the eye, isn't it?" - said Theseus, ironically - "Who could have suspected the good and old Percival Graves?"

  
"Achilles Tolliver is the florist's son. Was he here investigating Mr. Graves?" - Ben frowned, then turned to Tina - "He's your boyfriend."

  
    Doubts and repetitive thoughts made Tina not be able to keep up with her colleagues' conversation any longer. If her cognitive activities had not failed her, Percival Graves had been responsible for depositing millions of pounds sterling in the wagon of the Castle Combe locomotive, the same one whose responsibility for investigation belonged to herself. As it turned out, Seraphina Picquery had knowledge about the real responsible for the misappropriation of money, as well as Achilles Tolliver and he, the man of evasive answers and sudden withdrawals, was responsible for a investigation closely linked to her own. And yet Tina had no knowledge of any of those things.

  
"He is." - Tina murmured after a moment. Those words never seemed so painful - "But believe me, I don't think I still know many things about him."

  
"They did a good job." - Theseus commented finally - "Now we must wait for the President's return. There is still another end of the rope to be found."

  
    Directing a last nod to everyone present, Theseus headed to his office. The three occupants of the hall exchanged long stares in his absence, still shaken by the scene witnessed. Oliver was the first to shrug, returning to the packets on his desk.

  
"I hope you have understood everything that has happened. I will need someone to explain it to me later." - Oliver turned to his colleagues.

  
"I won't be that 'someone'." - Benjamin replied, following the colleague to the return of the interrupted activity.

  
    Tina, however, needed another few seconds to get rid of her shuffled thoughts. Unlike the men, the information provided by the news brought her answers to uncomfortable and customary questions. It made sense that the President of the Department of Investigations of the British Ministry was aware of many other matters which she, a mere criminal investigator, should not know. It also made sense, at that moment, the poorly explained departure of Achilles to his hometown. Meanwhile, Tina still had questions and grudges in her heart and she wasn't sure she could get rid of them.

  
    Sighing, Tina searched for the bitter taste of the hot, strong, discreetly sweet drink of her porcelain cup.

  
"Throw the autopsy pills away before they're forgotten again, Ben." - Tina heard Oliver's recommendation, and suddenly filled herself with a strange will.

  
"Can I discard them, just like the red ones?" - Tina questioned the pair - "Medications should be discarded responsibly."

  
"Go ahead." - Oliver nodded - "They're in the second drawer on the right, in the cabinet."

  
    Tina found the plastic filled with blue pills between tapes, clips and staplers, and tucked them securely in the pocket of her jacket, along with the box of red medications. She returned home and laid down on the bed that night with thousands of new thoughts to keep her company. When she felt too worn out for more silent debates, blue and red capsules were the last images in sight before she closed her eyes to surrender to a light sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some answers, a thousand new questions for our girl.
> 
> Let me know what you guys think!


	7. Seven.

A thin, cold drizzle dampened the outskirts of the Manor House hotel that mid-January afternoon. It had marked out its wet and disturbing presence in the absence of the criminal investigator for the two days she had remained outside Castle Combe. At that moment, even after the return of the black-skinned woman with bad-rested eyes, it seemed to have no intention of ceasing.

  
"I owe you explanations, Goldstein." - Seraphina Picquery set the cup on the table in her room to face the youngest woman's face.

  
"We can start at the beginning of everything, whatever it is..." - Tina answered in a low, almost inaudible tone.

  
    Seraphina pondered the tall, dark-haired woman for a few seconds. Goldstein was holding an untouched cup of tea on her lap and did not look away for a second at the pair of dark boots she wore. She was quieter than usual that afternoon, and Picquery knew the woman had enough reasons to be.

  
"A few months ago an accusation of corruption came to me, Tina." - Picquery sighed, standing up to watch the raindrops through the window. "According to the source, an important, generous man of a small inland town would be sending absurd amounts of dirty money to the capital, in a locomotive. His name was Percival Graves, the good and beloved Percival Graves."

  
"What do you mean by 'dirty money'?" - Tina asked.

  
"Money that is the result of illegal activities of all kinds: money laundering, illegal casinos, prostitution..." - Picquery shrugged. "Like all criminal boys do."

  
"How did you find out about all this?"

  
"We were fortunate that our source happened to be someone who was as important to Castle Combe as the accused." - a small, ephemeral smile appeared on the lips of the President. "Someone with remarkable abilities to prove his claims."

  
"Theseus." - Tina hissed in surprise, and the other nodded.

  
"Theseus was as much a friend of the family as he was a threat to the activities of Percival Graves, if not the greatest of them. It was not long before the man attempted to unite the police district delegate to his cause, but Theseus is a man of law, Tina, our luck. However important to the accusation, Theseus' proofs were inconclusive. There was no possibility of proving that the sending of the money would actually occur, nor that the man was the manager of the establishments mentioned. I needed more and Theseus needed the support of a skilled investigator in the town, someone capable of camouflaging himself, probing closely and circumventing Percival Graves' personal documents. What disguise is better for an investigator than someone born and raised in Castle Combe?"

  
"Is that why Achilles left the capital, then?" - Tina murmured thoughtfully.

  
"I'm sorry for the sudden departure, Tina. My fault, I confess." - Picquery smiled sadly at the young woman's resentful features. "Achilles's mission should be confidential, just like yours, and he was prevented from communicating his real reason for moving to Castle Combe to anyone."

  
"Just as I was..." - Tina felt her chest fill with remorse for all the times she'd been mad at the man in the last few days. "Pardon me, Madam Picquery, but I still can't understand why."

  
    Picquery sighed. She had avoided all the possibilities of sharing her motivations with any of her listeners. But Picquery trusted Tina Goldstein, long before she had chosen her for that mission. Ever since the transfer of the criminal investigator had been contested by her greatest opponent, when she had been sure that there was only one person capable of replacing her at her post in the service of truth: the most stubborn girl, of curious eyes and audacious questions, of her department.

  
"I don't trust the Ministry, Tina." - she finally confessed her greatest worry. "I don't trust Travers, I don't trust Abernathy, I don't trust any of them. They are at all times barring investigations, shelving allegations of corruption, throwing the Council against my presidency... Their efforts are so intense that I question myself what side they really are on."

  
    For a moment, Tina felt the ends of her fingers cold and her throat locked. At that moment, listening to Seraphina Picquery's listings, her lack of understanding about the accumulation of archived cases and the disinterestedness of the team in pointing out members capable of solving them began to make sense.

  
"The Ministry didn't know about Achilles' investigations and that was vital until the conclusive evidence was presented, so I asked him to step aside as someone who needed a break from the capital. He's a good man and an excellent investigator. It was not long before the Department took him away, as I had planned."

  
    Tina let out a murmur in agreement. She felt her chest tighten at every new affirmation of Seraphina Picquery. Would Achilles forgive her, even after so many arguments? The man had not been in touch with his girlfriend in any of the last few days. Interviews and many other occupations take time, Tina had thought, feeling her body warm in shame.

  
"The Council knows that I am investigating the burglary of the locomotive, as well as the case of illegal money partially solved. The people of this city would know who I am anyway, but it was crucial for you to be someone with little involvement in the investigations. It was critical that not even Achilles knew about your mission, so that there would be no bias in both of your investigations since you would have a common suspect." - she shrugged her shoulders. "There's no more reason for you to lie to him, but it remains of the utmost importance that no one in this town knows what you really are doing. We are dealing with invisible, powerful, and immensely dangerous enemies, Tina, people capable of doing whatever it takes to stop investigations."

  
"Do you think the locomotive's money was meant for someone from the Ministry?"

  
"It's my biggest guess."- Picquery agreed. "Corrupt and influential men always have the help of other corrupt and influential men. This is how they are covered up and hold on for so long in grand illegal activities."

  
"That explains a lot." - Tina muttered at last.

  
"Yes, it does, but the work is just beginning, Goldstein." - Picquery sat down again in the chair at the small table. "We have the owner of the money, but we don't have the addressee. We know who put it in the wagon, but we don't know who took it from there. We have two parts still to be clarified."

  
"We can still question the men at the railway station." - Tina reminded. "We can demand the truth. They will have no escape."

  
"Just by much luck they'll give us another name besides Percival Graves, Tina." - Picquery was frustrated by her own statement. "The man made us the kindness of dying before leaving a clue about the criminals..."

  
    It was then that Picquery's words reminded Tina of a possibility ever present in her thoughts in the last days. Percival Graves was dead before leaving clues leading to a suspect, killed by the intake of a capsule other than his usual medications. What would be the chances of a man of so many secrets being killed by accident, and for such an unlikely cause to his physical condition, on the eve of having his criminal activities brought to the surface? What are the chances that a man capable of exposing an entire criminal network would be killed _by accident_?

  
    But Tina remembered the death certificate clearly. She remembered the conversation she had had with Ben and Oliver and how it all seemed to fit in to convince her of their conformity. Is it valid to add one more point to the two already existing for that case, when all the information known led her to the conclusion that Percival Graves's death was a fatal misfortune? Tina felt dizzy and confused by the whirlwind of new thoughts in her mind.

  
"Goldstein?" - Picquery called the momentarily absentminded woman, taking her out of her pondering.

  
"Forgive me, Madame Picquery." - Tina flashed a small smile. "I just remembered something important I have to do..."

  
"I apologize for the bombardment of information, Tina. I think you should get some rest." - Picquery's eyes wandered through the pale face of the younger one. "We'll need your mind in order, from now on."

  
    Tina nodded to all of Seraphina Picquery's recommendations for that very day. There was, however, no desire or interest in being distracted by one film or another, a book of fiction or another, a bottle of beer or another. Tina went back to the modest house in which she was lodging to ruminate the information received by the Head of her department and scribble, even more, the leaves of her small notebook.

 

 

 

    Leta Lestrange was uncomfortable with the number of intrigued eyes facing her. She decided to lower her own to the showcase of handmade breads in search of her favorite sweet, hoping that the pleasant weather and the aroma of roasted fresh from the oven distracted her from the slight tremor of her hands.

  
    Theseus, at her side, did not feel intimidated by curious and even condemned glances of the people from Castle Combe. None of them could know the origin of the denunciation that had put an end to the empire of Percival Graves. It was the worried look of his wife, however, that bothered him the most. But what could he do, anyway?

  
    The man knew that the woman was watching at all times for the well-being of Eberdith Graves. " _She's suffered enough_ ", Leta would say at every update on the progress of Achilles Tolliver's investigations. " _She's suffered enough_ ", Leta had said when Theseus had gathered enough evidence to expose the man's illegal activities. But what could Theseus do about the consequences of his investigations, besides feeling sorry for the price to be paid by the innocent? Theseus knew that Eberdith Graves was an innocent woman.

  
    Leta was the first to notice the approach of the lady with blond hair. Once filled with sweetness, the very pale blue eyes of Anna Baulier, one of the employees at Graves' residence, were filled with a strange opacity. Leta saw in them a mixture of sadness and revolt.

  
"Theseus, you must stop them!" - Anna uttered the words in a not-gently way. "These people only brought ruins to our city!"

  
"Percival Graves brought ruins to our city, Mrs. Baulier." - Theseus corrected, with calm and respect in his voice. "The Ministry kindly revealed them to us before they collapsed over our heads."

  
"This is an insult to the man who received you at his residence so often, Theseus! An insult to the man I have served for years, who helped me raise my son!" - Anna gasped, feeling tears in her eyes. "That's an insult to an entire family!"

  
    Anna's fists were trembling, closed, and her disgusted eyes were fixed on the image of Theseus. The trio was observed by the livid faces of everyone present at the warehouse, listened to by people crowded at the door of the establishment and faced in disapproval by the employees behind the counters.

  
"Leta!" - Anna begged for any manifestation of the woman.

  
"No one helped you raise John, Anna. You should be proud you did it by youself." - Leta murmured. "Percival did what was his duty as a master to do. That does not make him any less guilty of his crimes."

  
"You want to know how she is, don't you? Then I'll tell you." - Anna's voice trembled with anger. "She has not eaten for three days. She's been locked in that room for three days, in complete silence, stuck with the shame they brought to her name!"

  
"Percival plunged her into shame the moment he gave his last name to her." - Leta finished, discontented.

  
    Anna Baulier felt insulted enough for that day. She did not hide the fury in her eyes as she gave the couple a last steaming gaze before marching toward the entrance of the warehouse, paving the way between inquisitors with little gentleness.

  
    An uncomfortable squeeze choked Leta down her throat and she knew she would not be able to control her tears. Theseus touched her arm in a subtle and assuring grip, bringing her against his chest.

  
"It's not our fault, okay?" - he whispered. "We know that."

  
"It's not hers either." - the woman murmured in response, pressing her eyes closed. She wished she could open them and find herself in the comfort and safety of her house - "Of none of them."

  
    Theseus removed some long strands of dark hair from his wife's wet face, sliding his freckled fingers between the shiny black cascades. Leaving on the counter a note of value greater than enough to be paid for by the clafoutis of cherries in his hands, he guided the little figure to the main street of the city, back to the mansion of the Scamander family. He murmured words of comfort all the way, hoping that his wife's favorite dessert would bring her, on that bitter day, a little sweetness.

 

 

 

     _Blue. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Red._

  
    These were the words Tina swore were being hissed by the small bedside clock, all through that early morning. In the darkness of her small room, the woman made infinite movements, under the blankets of the bed, for a position that would cradle her in deep sleep or that would only muffle the incessant noises of the seconds hand.

  
     _Blue. Red. Blue. Red. Blue._

  
    Tina was not used to believing coincidences so easily. In a better definition, Tina was not accustomed to believing anything so easily. She had been raised, taught, trained for that, and she would not choose sides and take opinions until she was convinced to do so. But why, she wondered, did her head throb with disorganized thoughts about the paradox of two words? Why wasn't she convinced, in her heart, if her mind told her to do it?

  
     _Blue. Red. Blue. Red._

  
    She sat down on the mattress, her knees hugged against her chest. That was, since as a child, her favorite position to think. Should she tell Madame Picquery? What would she say about Tina's suspicions and about the apparent conformity involving the death of Percival Graves? Would Seraphina Picquery believe in unlikely misfortunes? Would she believe in unlikely misfortunes signed by medical examiners at the University of Birmingham, and caused by the intake of a capsule different from those usual to Percival Graves?

  
     _Blue. Red. Blue._

  
    The capsules rested on her bedside for days and nights. They were the first things the woman saw when she woke up, the last before she closed her eyes to sleep, and yet Tina knew so little about them. She didn't understand their pharmacological properties, their curative potential, their ability to create unlikely misfortunes. Tina wished to understand them, and for this reason she was lost in two badly sleeping nights. At that moment, she was wake on a full night, for the first time, wishing to understand them.

  
     _Blue. Red._

  
    She heard the sounds of her neighbor's car leaving the garage for another day's work. It was four-forty in the morning when the woman pondered her only three options to give herself a little peace of mind.

  
    She could send them for analysis to the ministry, but that would mean giving explanations to her superiors about the relevance of such inquiries for the burglary of the locomotive. Providing explanations to Travers and Abernathy was out of question.

  
    She could send them for analysis to a nearby pharmacological laboratory, but that would require a formal request signed by someone from the ministry. Tina didn't have the power to sign ministerial documents on her own.

  
    And Tina could send them to _him_ , so he could answer all her questions. She wouldn't need documentation or provide formal explanations to her superiors, she wouldn't even need to share with Madam Picquery all her assumptions before she was certain of their relevancy. But that would mean risking and acting against one of the most important recommendations of the Head of the Department, and Tina wasn't even sure that the messy-haired man could indeed help her...

  
     _Blue_.

 

 

 

    The sun's rays were already penetrating through the gray clouds when the woman threw herself out the door to face the icy temperatures of that early morning. She wrapped a wool scarf around her shoulders to cover the vapor cloud of her breath. Two streets to the left, he had said. On them Tina took a determined walk.

  
    The street was as narrow as all the others that belonged to that town, full of houses with square windows, identical, on both sides. Tina would have returned to her own house, feeling frustrated enough that she didn't identify the one she was looking for in any of them, were it not for the construction of number seven, at the end of the lane, standing out among all others for its peculiarities.

  
    Unlike bricks of the colour of the surrounding trees, the small two-story house was covered with a cloak of orange moss and leaves that fell to the windows. A cloud of smoke rose from the chimney, dispersing to the chill breeze, and Tina gave a small smile at her approach. She couldn't have imagined a more suitable house for the man and didn't hesitate to provide the aged wooden door with three soft beats.

  
    The fringe of disordered hair appeared, gradually, behind the rough surface of pale wood, and Tina saw the simultaneous movement of both eyebrows, rising in surprise, under those curly strands. The boy's eyes flashed across her face during his momentary loss of speech, and as they reflected the partial clarity of that morning, Tina realized that there was a real and beautiful blend of blue and green tones in them.

  
"How extense is your knowledge in the field of zoology?" - she smiled playfully in her own words and was glad to see him do the same.


	8. Into the shed.

The house of Newt Scamander was as peculiar in its facade as it was in its interior. It did not reveal much about its dweller in the earlier rooms, though. It was in the shed, at the rear of the house, that the eccentric and odd personality of the young zoologist was mirrored between shelves and wooden cabinets, composed of the most different shades of brown.

  
    Countless drawers reached the floor to the low ceiling of the small room and pressed their occupants between balconies filled with the most varied instruments of work. Tina listed magnifying glass, pipettes, a microscope, glasses containing herbs and pasty substances, a single stove, birdseed and books. Books and notebooks stuffed with notes, until someone lose sight of them. At the center of the small environment, culminating in what should have been an attic, were it not for the unmistakable clarity of the gray sky, a staircase rose, its such narrow steps making Tina forget her momentary curiosity to know the view that its rise would provide.

  
"Please, sit down, Miss Goldstein." - Newt gestured to a bench by the side of the stairs before standing up in front of his work counter. "Do you want to know more about these drugs, anything specific?"

  
"All you know about them, Mr. Scamander. The way they act, what they are used for, what are the risks after someone take them..."

  
"Well, this red is used commercially to raise blood pressure and to treat affective disorders, such as depression. It acts primarily by inhibiting the destruction of important neurotransmitters and thereby allowing them greater availability. Once they are more available, they raise the blood pressure and alleviate some symptoms of depression, such as lack of motivation and thought disorder, for example. In this capsule, in particular, the concentrations are low and I would say that only in very rare situations it would be able to provide some risk to its consumer."

  
"And why should not they be associated with alcoholic beverages?" - Tina remembered a frequent question.

  
"It should not be associated with wine intake, preferably, and also with the intake of a series of foods that have high amounts of a substance important for our body, it's called _tyramine_." - Newt, concentrating on checking the label for the red medicine, did not notice the startle of woman at the mention of that word. "Tyramine is an important precursor to some of our neurotransmitters, as is the case of those that raise our blood pressure and decrease the symptoms of depression."

  
"And what happens if you associate them?"

  
"I would not advise you to, Miss Goldstein." - Newt turned to Tina. "It would result in an excess of neurotransmitters in your body and that could raise your blood pressure so intensely to the point of fatality."

  
"Like an acute hypertensive disease? Or an intracranial hemorrhage?"

  
    Newt nodded silently. He vaguely remembered that same pack of medicines and also recalled the mention of both fatal clinical conditions by Theseus, after receiving the death certificate of Percival Graves. He wondered, for a moment, if the man had finally disrespected, after years of control of his addictions, his most important medical recommendation, but soon he had the answer to his considerations.

  
"This tyramine you mentioned, Mr. Scamander, is the substance in the blue capsules, or at least that's what medical examiners say at the University of Birmingham."

  
    The man looked up at the woman now standing in front of him. Her pale face, paler than he'd ever seen, certainly matched the surprise stamped on his own. Newt felt a strange knot forming in his gut.

  
"This is Mr. Graves' medication, isn't it?" - he questioned, returning the box with the red pills to the woman's hands, and she nodded.

  
"Do you recognize them?"

  
"Yes. Mrs. Graves showed them to me a few years ago, before asking me to persuade him to leave, once and for all, the habit of drinking."

  
"And the blue ones, do you remember seeing them occasionally?"

  
"Never, Miss Goldstein. I've never really been close to Mr. Graves, even though I worked at his house, to be aware of the other medicines he used to take." - Newt murmured. "But this killed him, didn't it?"

  
    Again, Tina nodded. Newt, after a long sigh, directed the blue capsules back to the woman's hands, but she silently denied them.

  
"I wish you could help me to see if the contents of these capsules really are the substance they claim to be. If that's possible, I mean, and if you'd like to do it, also. I'll pay whatever the price you must want." Tina said, staring into the man's clear orbits.

  
"What are you, truly, Miss Goldstein?" - Newt questioned. There was, however, nothing beyond curiosity in his voice. "Some kind of investigator?"

  
"I'm just curious." - Tina gave him a small smile. She wasn't really lying, was she?

  
"I can help you, of course." - he murmured at last, smiling at her. "You could join me in the process if you want to, and your help would be welcome."

  
"My help?" - Tina stammered in surprise at the boy's proposal. "I'm afraid I don't have useful skills in zoology, Mr. Scamander."

  
"I could teach you. It will not be difficult or time-consuming."- he ventured, uncertainly, and then the smile disappeared from his face. "But of course you don't have to come if you don't want to."

  
    Tina assessed the young zoologist's offer for a moment. She would be lying if she said she was not curious to know the methods he'd use to investigate the substance contained in the blue capsules. In addition, the man's mournful features made her think that Newt, always so lonely, did not seem to be accustomed to having his proposals accepted.

  
    Then Tina smiled.

  
"When do we start?"

 

 

 

    A man of old age stared at the pair of women beneath thick gray eyebrows. Wearing very old and worn work uniforms, he had a naturally sullen countenance and spoke only when he was requisitioned.

  
"Mr. Francis, your name was quoted by one of your colleagues on our last visit." - Seraphina Picquery pointed out, walking ahead of the interviewee. "Antony says it was your responsibility to check the wagons the night of the burglary of the locomotive."

  
" _Aye_." - Francis murmured in agreement.

  
"As you were present at the railway station, I would like you to tell me any abnormal movements you have seen during that day or that week."

  
"The man came to us once." - Francis did not hesitate to speak, his voice had a frightening hoarseness. "He told us to put the money in the car one day and he said he would take it out a day later."

  
    Picquery and Tina exchanged a quick, intense look.

  
"Percival Graves?" - Tina questioned. "He came alone?"

  
    The man raised his opaque eyes to Tina, with interest, to lower them to the ground shortly after. He settled himself for a long moment on the chair where he sat, and it protested in a series of creaks.

  
" _Aye_."

  
"Why did he want to take the money?" - Picquery asked again.

  
"Never said."

  
"And what happened to the money?" - it was Tina's turn to do it.

  
"Never said."

  
    Tina saw, from the corners of her eyes, Picquery's fists clench. The woman snorted audibly.

  
"I don't want to know what he said. I want to know what you saw."

  
"Nothing." - Francis replied, simply.

  
    Picquery, without a single remaining drop of patience in her veins, advanced toward Francis. Her eyes were closed and she was preparing to roar about the interviewer's evasive answers. Never, however, did she have to.

  
"He said he'd leave money in the wagon if we stayed away from Seven. He had a gun in his hand, he said he'd use it if we did not."

  
    The woman stopped suddenly, inches from the man.

  
"So the money left in the wagon was for you?" - Tina asked.

  
" _Aye_! But the brat has reached it first."

  
    The man roared in disgust for confirmation, gritting his teeth in anger, and Tina worried about the safety of Antony. Picquery remained silent, steeped in her own thoughts, for too long. Her hands were tied once more. She could not arrest the staff of the local railway station, since the money left in the wagon had not reached hands other than those in favor of the law. She could not have accused them of being part of the millionaire deviation if those men had been threatened to do so. She could not disagree with Francis's claims once there was not even a record on the camera system to prove or to cancel them. There were not many other options left.

  
"You're dismissed, Francis, all of you are." - Picquery sighed, defeated.

  
    With a nod and a long look at the two women present, Francis left the small employee's room. Picquery rested her hands at the blue silk turban and sighed, displeased. Tina prepared herself to put the note material in her work bag.

  
"I can't understand..." - Tina confessed. "He stole the money he intended to divert?"

  
"Is what it seems."

  
"What for?"

  
"To betray his allies, to protect himself from the Ministry, if he suspected he was under investigation." - Picquery rubbed her eyes with the backs of her fingers, feeling as tired as ever. "There are many options."

  
"He didn't want to protect himself from investigations. Francis said that he had only been to the railway station once, you heard him. He knew what he was doing from the beginning."

  
"Then our best hypothesis is that he betrayed his allies, whoever they are."

  
    A thought raced through Tina's mind swiftly between her ponderings. If Percival Graves had planned to betray his allies from the beginning, there would be enough time for his plans to be discovered by them. As far as was known, the stolen money had not yet been found.

  
    What if the death of Percival Graves on the very day of the disappearance of millions of pounds sterling was no mere coincidence? What if Percival Graves' death was, in fact, a _planned murder_?

  
"That would make sense..." - she whispered to herself, and her lips parted involuntarily.

  
"Yes, but there is no concrete evidence that Francis tells the truth." - Picquery sighed. "It is a man's word against our doubts. We must consider the possibilities, but it is not safe to hold them, Goldstein."

  
    Picquery walked a few steps to get in front of Tina. There was some concern in her eyes about the stunned expressions on the youngest woman's face, but she had more urgent things to worry about at that moment.

  
"There's only one way we can confirm this information." - said Picquery. "We need to go back to the Graves Mansion and interview its residents."

 

 

 

    There was nothing in the world like the feeling of bare feet against the grass. Perhaps the feeling of running on sand, Eberdith thought, smiling at her own quarrels. It was a pretty sunny day for the beginning of the year, the first in many weeks, and it was a waste to continue to watch the soft breeze move the treetops through the bedroom window.

  
    She walked alone among the shrubs in her own garden. Time and again she bent down to admire, closely, the natural shades of blue, pink, and orange of the jasmine branches. John Baulier's delicacy to keep alive her best memories was one of the things that captivated her the most. And so did Newt Scamander's dedication to both horses in the stables, where she approached.

  
    He was talking to Frank, the light-haired animal of always attentive ears, as the woman entered the wooden structure. He had not noticed her presence for several moments, and she silently thanked him for it. Seeing him in his most free and sincere form cherished some of her sorrows. The woman approached the nearest bay, where large, curious black eyes stared at her, unconcerned, and smiled truly for the first time in days.

  
"Beautiful creatures they are, don't you think?" - she said when the man finally noticed that he was not alone.

  
    Newt smiled, feeling ashamed enough to be caught up in his interaction with the animals. Eberdith held out one of her hands to the mare. The animal sniffed the delicate fingers with little interest, snoring lightly before lowering its muzzle into the dry foliage, to the ground.

  
"I dreamed of having them since I was a kid." - she caressed the brown back of Zouwu with her pale hand. "It's a shame I have not given them the time they deserve, but I'm glad to know that someone is taking good care of them in my absence."

  
    Newt watched the woman for a few moments, she carried the heavy shadows of someone who had not rested for days. He remembered seeing her come to the city many years ago, still with sun-tanned skin from her native land and a jovial smile on her lips. Newt was quite young, enjoying the last days of his college vacation at his parents' house, and so was she, even though the heavy engagement ring made the residents of Castle Combe forget about this detail.

  
    He remembered to see her happy, in simpler clothes, to laugh at any bullshit told by Leta on a summer afternoon, days before her wedding. Newt had never witnessed such a situation ever since. He wondered, always in quiet thoughts, whether the woman had discovered too soon, or too late, about the secrets of Percival Graves's life.

  
"I'm sorry about the recent news, Mrs. Graves." - Newt murmured, mournful and restrained. "I know you loved him very much."

  
"Love is a funny thing, isn't it, Mr. Scamander? It can be both the most beautiful and the most dangerous thing in the world." - she muttered, after a few seconds of pondering. "It makes us blind sometimes."

  
    Eberdith risked a quick glance at the man, offering a small smile that was not entirely spontaneous. Taking the image of the two creatures behind the stalls one last time, she returned her walk back to the great house, leaving behind a confused Newt to ruminate her words carefully.

 

 

 

    The noise of the shower water against the clear porcelain on the floor heightened the pealing anxiety of both its listeners. Over the misaligned sheets of the double bed, plunged into the darkness of the only room in that residence, the figure absentmindedly tapped the lid of a small metal box.

  
    It stood motionless, almost imperceptibly, as it followed the ragged tracks of its most secret thoughts. It had made an important decision the day before, a decision that would cost it far more than it imagined it could afford. It had no fears or regrets, though. It was determined to do the impossible to get rid of the nauseating scent impregnated with the cotton cloth that irritated its nostrils to the extreme of its tolerance.

  
    The icy hand, a little more trembling than it might have expected, sought the small pointed object it had brought that day, amid the tangled threads of a piece of wool. It removed the lid from the metal box to lay its eyes on the reflected light on each of the items resting inside. Searching for the first in reach, the same dangerous glow of malice hovering in the Machiavellian eyes and in the sharp end of the pin in its hands, it mixed with the muffled sound of the water to the series of attacks made against that material.

  
    Its hands were even more shaken as it searched for the second in reach. And the third. And the fourth. In the fifth, containing the scary smile fixed to its lips, was startled to realize that there was no longer the sound of running water. In a very rapid movement, it returned the metal box to one of the three drawers in the single dresser in that dormitory.

  
    Silently accompanying the unhurried approach in the small corridor, it wondered, breathless with anxiety, if it still had the dignity to make requests to God in its prayers. It wondered, in its last reflection, if it still had the dignity to pray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any bets? Let me know what you think!


	9. The intermediate.

Newt searched for the sphygmomanometer in one of the dozens of drawers in his work shed. Forgotten a few years ago, a small layer of dust rested on the object, causing the man to grimace in frustration at the mess in the room. Amidst the series of self-criticisms in his mind, Newt wondered what the young american woman would think of such a disorganized professional.

  
    In fact, he could not avoid the purposeful and uneven disposition of old and worn materials on his counter. He was adapted to the usual need to do several tasks at once, and thought it appropriate not to have to search those cabinets to easily find any instruments he sought. Although reluctant to make such a statement to himself, he could not help but worry about the visitor's opinions about him.

  
    Tina Goldstein was a beautiful woman. A strong, independent, smart, interesting, and undoubtedly beautiful woman, Newt had thought from the first time he had seen her in Castle Combe. She was as tall as himself, with hair that reached just below her chin, as dark and shiny as her eyes. And those eyes, large and intense, seemed to evaluate everything and everyone carefully, as if able to see through thoughts and feelings. Newt's hands sweated in nervousness every time he happened to find her by chance on the stools of the city bar.

  
    Something about her made him wiggle to have those brown eyes turned toward him for a few seconds, just to feel his cheeks burning like fire or say something to regret soon after. At that moment, eagerly waiting for a knock on his door, Newt was assessing the plethora of motives for drawing silent criticism from his visitor. And he knew he had remarkable skills in that art.

  
    The woman was not late for the agreed time on the day before. There she was, at his door, at five minutes to eight o'clock in the morning, with a cold pink nose and a half smile hidden by a wool scarf. Newt offered her a cup of lemon tea, which she politely declined, and soon the pair settled into his work shed.

  
"This is a sphygmomanometer, Miss Goldstein." - Newt extended the now clean device to the woman's hands. "It is used to measure blood pressure."

  
"I've used one of these before." - Tina remembered the nursing training at the military academy.

  
"That's good." - Newt smiled. "I'll need you to use it again today."

  
"What will we do?"

  
"We'll test the effects of the blue capsules. If they actually contain tyramine, then my blood pressure is expected to be raised considerably, with some physiological, but not very intense, adverse and side effects." - Newt took one of them into his hands.

  
"Wait... You don't plan-" - Tina tried to protest, but the man interrupted her speech.

  
"I have no equipment to study the drug by another method, Tina." - Newt risked a small smile at the woman's astonished countenance.

  
"You can't ingest these capsules! We don't know what's in there!"

  
"Listen. You told me yesterday that the University of Birmingham have identified tyramine as that substance. I don't think the identification is wrong."

  
"They may have lied on purpose!"

  
"My brother requested that autopsy, Tina. He trusts those people." - he murmured, contained. "But if they have lied, we will find out, right? Do you trust me?"

  
    Tina didn't have a convinced expression on her face when Newt, before any further protest, tossed the capsule to the back of his throat. He swallowed, and so did she. The woman sighed deeply, covering her face with icy, shaking hands.

  
"Do you have love for your life?" - Tina muttered against her palms, appearing between them just to see him laugh in amusement.

  
"I didn't ingest the red capsules, so the blue ones can't hurt me so badly." - he shrugged. "It should take a few minutes to work. Please sit down."

  
    Tina settled on the stool at one end of the small shed and Newt sat on the floor, bringing his knees close to his chest. He would be lying if he said he didn't feel a strange and unpleasant tingling in his abdomen from swallowing the capsule, but the woman needed his help, and he had mentally prepared himself to do so the night before.

  
"Where do you come from, Miss Goldstein?" - Newt's question broke the silence.

  
"New York. Born and grown." - Tina played with the instrument in hand.

  
"And since when are you in London?"

  
"I was transferred a few years ago. Four or five, if I'm not mistaken. Six months after I was hired by the American Ministry."

  
    Newt nodded silently.

  
    He watched the distracted figure for a moment. She still carried a frown and an almost hurt look under her eyebrows, curiously strumming the pressure gauge. He hugged his knees in resignation.

  
"What about you?" - she asked suddenly. "Where did you graduate?"

  
"Oxford."

  
"Been there for a long time?"

  
"For four years to complete my degree, but it took me a few years to return to Castle Combe. I've been to many places since then."

  
    Tina looked from her lap to the man on the floor. With the sleeves of his shirt pulled up and his hair discreetly unkempt, he resembled a grown child. Maybe Philipe's drawing was all realistic and Newt Scamander was, in fact, a larger version of the little boy.

  
"Where have you been?" - she asked again.

  
"I traveled to some countries in my field research, America, North Africa, Eastern Europe... I've been collecting data on the fauna and flora of these regions. I want to write a book about them."

  
"A book?"

  
"Yes. A book for people to understand the importance of preserving rather than exterminating them, as we have been doing."

  
"This is really nice."

  
    Tina smiled and the man felt his face flush slightly, hiding behind the strands of curly hair a shy smile.

  
"What do you do here?" - Tina looked at the shed once more.

  
"I study the healing properties of the herbs I have collected in my research and that I grow in the backyard, but I also take care of some animals of the city. I feed them in the mornings and, at the beginning of each night, shelter injured animals and use the space as a makeshift hospital..."

  
    Tina smiled again, this time with a little more intensity. The room was warm and comfortable, and she saw no need to keep the scarf around her neck.

  
"This is very nice too."

  
    The man felt his chest warm at the woman's statement and hissed murmured thanks. However, a slight uncomfortable burning appeared at the nape of his neck, and Newt finally realized that the rapid beating of his heart was not at all caused by Tina's words. He felt slightly dizzy and breathless, and a pain hit the side of his head.

  
"Tina." - he called and, in a second, the woman was sitting beside him.

  
    Breathing in and out in rhythmic cycles in an attempt to stifle the symptoms, Newt extended his left arm to her. Thin, cold fingers lifted the sleeve of the shirt further so that the instrument covered part of his arm. Tina had no doubt that the obvious would be marked on the display, but she thought it prudent to monitor how high his blood pressure was.

  
"Do you think it will raise much more?" - Tina questioned, apprehensive.

  
"It's unlikely, but it will remain stable for a few minutes."

  
    Sweat was starting to sprout on Newt's forehead. At Tina's touch, his skin was cold as ice, though his cheeks were intensely flushed, and his hair and the thin material of his linen shirt were damp. Momentarily unsure of what to do, Tina had the impulse to remove the garment, but the man's fast, icy hands prevented her from opening the second of the button line.

  
"No." - he quickly said. "I'm fine, I swear."

  
"You'll feel better without it." - Tina shrugged awkwardly.

  
"Perhaps it will be better if we open it instead." - Newt pointed to something behind Tina.

  
    Tina had never noticed the back door of the shed. Nor could she, as it was camouflaged by the wood around it and was hidden between two heavy raincoats. She pulled the knob swiftly, allowing the light and the cool breeze of that morning to invade the small room. She did not dwell on her observations of the low shrubbery of a small garden, nor of the red, green and beige-colored trees. She quickly returned to the man's side. He was leaning, eyes closed, his head on his bent knees.

  
    Newt Scamander was a handsome man, Tina thought. Something about the hue between light brown and bronze of the short hair drew her eyes to secret remarks whenever she found the opportunity. Tina had never met anyone who had that peculiar shade, not even Theseus, whose hair was a darker shade of brown. The same she could say about the young zoologist's eyes and its blue and green transitions, or about the trails of golden freckles left on his skin, between his eyes and along his arm, as far as Tina could see.

  
"Do you feel better now?" - she asked, putting an end to her musings.

  
"A little." - Newt relaxed his head against the cabinet behind him. "Being constantly produced and degraded by our body, it should not take long for my metabolism to completely reduce the tyramine's effect now."

  
    Tina released the air she had been holding for some time in her lungs and mimicked the position of the man beside her. She closed her eyes for a moment, finally realizing that her heartbeat was also racing, painful against her ribs. It was an unpleasant sensation. Tina scowled as she imagined how intense it must be for Newt.

  
"You could have died..." - she murmured, concerned.

  
"I've survived worse things, Miss Goldstein." - Newt flashed a small smile. "It would take more than that if I wanted to try."

  
"Promise me that if someone ever knocks on your door asking for such a crazy favor, you will send them out right away."

  
    Newt, though still breathless, couldn't contain a light laugh, and Tina accompanied him.

  
"I thought I asked you to call me Tina." - she muttered casually.

  
"I'm sorry." - Newt smiled. "It's the habit."

  
"You almost scared me to death today. I think we can put the formalities aside."

  
    He hid the lingering smile on his face behind the messy fringe of hair, feeling his chest warm under his damp shirt. He hugged his knees more tightly to hide the transparency of the linen material.

  
"The capsule's substance was tyramine, Tina." - Newt stated with conviction and Tina turned her face to him.

  
"Thank you, Newt. Thank you, really."

  
    Newt nodded cordially, a shy blush on his face.

  
"You still haven't told me your price." - Tina remembered.

  
"Oh, Tina. Of course I won't charge you for-"

  
"Don't argue with me." - she intervened, decided. "This will not come for free."

  
    The smile on Newt's lips faltered for a split second as he pondered a proposal that would satisfy the woman's stubbornness. In his heart he hid a secret wish, a well-kept wish, and unfortunately fed it every time he laid eyes on her. He wondered if there was any possibility that the idea sounded less inappropriate in his words than echoed in the corners of his mind.

  
"Have a drink with me." - he tried, uncertainly, feeling his cheeks sting with embarrassment. "And with your boyfriend, of course, he's also invited. Not today, I don't think it would be safe for me... But any day. Or no day, if you don't want to. This is my price."

  
"Are you going to make fun of me if I order an Irish for a third time?" - she arched an eyebrow in amusement and he blushed, denying intensely. "So it's settled, then."

  
    They exchanged small, unpretentious smiles, Tina still watching Newt closely from the corners of her eyes. The man seemed to control his breathing better, but still blushed considerably. She then took his arm to check the blood pressure again, happy to still remember the procedure she had learned a few years ago in New York. Though high, the blood pressure had decreased considerably, and Tina sighed with relief.

  
"Do you feel better now?" - she asked once again.

  
"Much better." - Newt's voice was hoarse and he moistened his lips. "I think I need a glass of water."

  
    Newt rose to his feet, still having a headache but judging that the other symptoms were controlled. He strode into the small house, disappearing from sight, and Tina watched the instruments and papers on the work desk with greater attention. In a small notebook, written in beautiful cursive, were notes about a kind of salamander she didn't know. Tina read with interest an unfinished paragraph about its complex life habits and, at the bottom of that same page, in very small print, left some notes of her own.

    Holding the inscribed leaves, she watched him return to the shed with a glass in hand and a bath towel on his shoulders.

  
"I left my phone number at the bottom of the page. I want you to contact me if you don't feel well." - she handed him the notebook, receiving in return the water-filled glass that he had brought to her. "I want you to give me yours too."

  
    The man stared, stunned, at the notebook she held in his hand for a moment, the very messy sketches of what would once be the manuscript of his book. He blushed, getting used to the gesture. This was definitely not the context in which he had envisioned handing his phone number to a young woman for the first time. He scowled in response to his own thoughts and lack of decency, hoping Tina hadn't noticed it before taking the notebook in hand. Tina Goldstein was not his suitor. She would never be.

"Of course." - he muttered at last.

  
    Tina still carried a worried look on her face when she left Newt's house that morning. She clutched the small piece of paper in her hand, giving the man propped at the door a last grateful smile, and headed for the main street without looking back.

  
    Newt returned to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of lemon tea. He sat at the table, in front of the small notebook, and absentmindedly fingered the number which he knew he had remote possibilities for one day to call. He sighed in defeat, wondering when fate would no longer play him tricks like that, and resignedly tested the amount of sugar in his drink.

 

 

 

 

    The man stapled a small pile of papers harder than necessary, that morning. He was tired after a sleepless night of sleep and frustrated by the sequence of unpleasant words he had heard at dinner the night before.

  
    Oliver had never been able to gladly accept prejudiced expressions from his family's patriarch, just as he had never been able to avoid the uncomfortable knot in his gut every time someone's sexual orientation fell as a joke to his father's mouth. At that moment, at the age of twenty-five and finally expecting to have his own life, the man found it difficult to rest under the roof of a potential, yet invisible, enemy.

  
    Distracted by the previous year's newsletters, he was startled to feel soft lips brush the exposed skin at the nape of his neck. As he did every time, Oliver stepped back from his mate, making sure the Castle Combe police station lobby was still empty before turning his astonished eyes on Benjamin.

  
"Keep running away from me won't help, Oliver." - Benjamin murmured. "I know it's hard, but you need to tell them."

  
"It's easy for you to say." - Oliver laughed, with no apparent humor. "You left your town after telling your family, didn't have to listen to what they would have to say."

  
"It's easy for me to say?" - Ben mocked, pulling away abruptly. "Do you think it was easy for me to leave London, to leave my mother?"

  
    Oliver felt completely guilty for the explicit hurt in Benjamin's eyes and his chest tightened even more. Ben was his safe haven, the only one Oliver had, and he hated to know that he was hurting him more every new day.

  
"I'm sorry, Ben. Of course it wasn't easy, I know that." - Oliver's voice cracked in his whisper. "But you're braver than me. I'm afraid of what he might say or do. I have nowhere to go... _We_ have nowhere to go."

  
"We have my house." - Ben said firmly.

  
"You didn't understand what I meant." - Oliver insisted, swallowing the lump in his throat. "What good is living in this city, with these people, if everyone looks at us with contempt? What good is starting a family, our family, if they have to hear bad comments in every corner?"

  
"And then what?" - Ben stammered, hurt. "Shall we stop living all our dreams because of other people? Shall we exchange our happiness for their happiness?"

  
    Oliver's eyes burned with tears and mirrored those of Benjamin. Oliver reached for the other's hands to intertwine their fingers in a loving gesture.

  
"I'm tired of exchanging my happiness for other people." - he confessed.

  
"So there's only one way out." - Ben slid his thumb down the back of his mate's trembling hand.

  
    The shrill creak of the front door filled the lobby of the police district. Oliver, stepping away from Benjamin in an instant, rubbed his wet eyes with the sleeve of his shirt before slipping into his work chair. Tina caught a glimpse of the movement as she closed the door and felt her face flush at the realization that that was not the best time for a visit.

  
"Miss Goldstein." - Benjamin greeted, forcing a smile as he occupied the chair of his own desk. "You arrived early today."

  
"Madam Picquery and I are going to the Graves mansion." - she flashed an uncertain smile, approaching them. "I was passing and I remembered I need a favor."

  
"How can we help you?"

  
"Well, after the announcement of Percival Graves' involvement on the burglary of the locomotive, I thought it wise to add the movement of his bank account to Madam Picquery's investigation files." - Tina explained. "I wonder if you could request this documentation for me."

  
"Of course, Tina. I just need a formal letter, signed by Theseus, to send to the bank. He should arrive after lunch." - Ben pulled out a notepad to transcribe the message. "You just need the Graves family's banking?"

  
"Yes, for now."

  
"I must warn you that documentation may take a while to arrive, Tina." - Oliver finally said. "When Theseus last requested it, it took more than a month to arrive in Castle Combe."

  
" _A month_?" - Tina repeated, sighing in frustration. "Well, it's better than nothing, isn't it?"

  
"Looks like someone is looking forward to the end of their stay at Castle Combe..." - said Ben, risking the woman a tight smile.

  
"Here my problems have no end, Ben." - Tina returned the smile.

  
    Oliver groaned as he rose from his chair, willing to forget his own problems and frustrations. Maybe going for a walk would make him feel better. Or braver, if he was lucky.

  
"Do you know what also has no end in Castle Combe?" - he headed for the front door, giving his two onlookers a brief nod. "The post."

 

 

 

 

    Anna Baulier didn't smile as she revealed herself at the Graves' front door that early afternoon. She did not compliment the visiting pair after announcing Seraphina Picquery's desire to ask questions. She offered the women no glass of drink when she had no choice but to make them way for the large, luxurious living room. For the lady, the presence of ministerial officials in that environment was an unprecedented offense.

  
    Eberdith Graves, however, did not seem to hold the same great grudges as Anna. Taking her seat in front of her company, the woman had in her face only the ill-rested countenance of a woman who had been carrying a name of corruption for days.

  
"We know these are painful revelations, Mrs. Graves." - Picquery introduced the subject as gently as she could. "But that's what we do in my department."

  
    Picquery and Tina took a moment to respect the weight of those inquiries into the life of the young woman of slumped shoulders and red eyes. Giving the pair a small, very sad smile, Eberdith nodded silently.

  
"Our investigations should continue, as there are no clues that will lead us to the recipient of your husband's money. However, on one of our recent visits to the local railway station, it was reported that there is no other person responsible for removing the pounds from the wagon besides Percival Graves." - said the President, and Eberdith raised her eyebrows involuntarily.

  
"Are you saying Percival is responsible for the theft of the locomotive?" - she repeated in astonishment.

  
"That's what someone told us, Mrs. Graves." - Picquery nodded. "We wish that if there was any suspicious activity he did that week, or that night, you could report it to us."

  
"Percival was more anxious than usual, in fact, that night." - she murmured, in a low tone. "He was quite restless, but I didn't see anything that makes me think he might be involved in the theft of this locomotive."

  
"Did he leave the house that day?" - Tina questioned.

  
"No. We were here all day. He had several contacts in the capital, so he made many phone calls throughout that afternoon, but there was no reason to leave the house."

  
    The pair of investigators exchanged glances at the mention of the British capital. Maybe this was a subtle field for conversation, but one that could yield a lot of essential information, Tina thought.

  
"About these contacts, Mrs. Graves, do you know anything about them? Who they are, where they work?"

  
"My husband had a range of friends from London's elite. I don't know much about everyone, but the vast majority are related to the city's political and banking class." - Eberdith forced herself to remember something more specific. "I've been to some ministerial events with him, I've met some important people, but I don't remember their names because I was never introduced to them."

  
"One of his employees, John Baulier, he served as Percival Graves's right hand for many years, didn't he?" - Picquery remembered the information shared to her by Achilles and Eberdith nodded silently. "Maybe he has some name in mind. Could we talk to him?"

  
"John traveled to Nettleton just now." - she sketched an explicit apology on her face. "He has been taking supplies to the municipal orphanage, at my request, and should return only late in the evening."

  
"No problem, Mrs. Graves. Can we come back another day?"

  
"Of course. You're very welcome here." - she offered a smile to each of the visitors.

  
    Tina, her notebook always in hand, felt a strange impulse to bring up some of the issues that were taking her sleep away, and realized that there was no turning back when she heard her voice startle among the others.

  
"Mrs. Graves, could you answer one last question?"

  
    Tina felt the weight of Seraphina Picquery's inquisitive eyes on her, but avoided the reprimand look to make her miss a seemingly unique opportunity.

  
"I apologize for the abrupt introduction of the matter, Mrs. Graves, Madame Picquery." - Tina resumed her words. "But the investigation team demanded information about Percival's medications."

  
"It's fine, honey." - Eberdith gave the woman a loving smile.

  
"Some employees have been investigating Percival Graves's life, as everyone knows." - Tina said and Eberdith nodded. "Someone pointed out the apparent inconsistency between the cause of your husband's death, a hypertensive disease, and his physical condition in life."

  
    Tina noted the opacity acquired by Eberdith's dark eyes as she followed her reasoning. Picquery also seemed to be following it closely, both eyebrows raised in surprise at the randomness of that topic.

  
"Apparently, the investigation team turned their attention to the fact that the capsule found in your husband's intestine was a new medication in his routine, unlike the one he had been treating very low blood pressure for years. Could you confirm all these statements?"

  
"Yes, it's true."

  
"Do you have memories of your husband taking his usual medications, those red capsules, that day?"

  
"Certainly. I used to remind him to take them every day during breakfast."

  
"And what could you say about the origin of those blue capsules? Percival bought them? Did anyone recommend them to him? Did someone send them to him?"

  
    Eberdith looked away from Tina's face, knitting her brows in concentration. There was some apprehension in her countenance, and Tina was afraid that these questions might be too enlightening as to their secret assumptions and sufficient to add to the widow's mind yet another clear disturbance.

  
"Someone sent them to him from London." - she whispered at last. "They arrived at the beginning of December and he was waiting for them. When I questioned him about those capsules, he always said that he could drink a whole bottle of wine if he wanted to. I didn't believe it, you see. Percival did everything he could to drink again and the doctor always explained how fundamental it should be for him to stop the habit. So I hid them, but he found and took them for the first time on the day of his death. We had an argumentation when I stopped him from drinking and those were our last exchanged words."

  
"Do you know who sent them, Mrs. Graves?" - Tina asked again.

  
    Eberdith swallowed the lump in her throat. She couldn't stop the memories coming back, intense, like a movie in front of her eyes. She pressed them shut tightly to get rid of those memories, and sharply denied Tina's question. Picquery put a hand on the woman's shoulder, squeezing it lightly in discreet comfort.

  
"We are so sorry for all the pain we are causing, Mrs. Graves." - she muttered ruefully.

  
"It's not you that causes me pain, Mrs. Picquery, nor the Ministry." - Eberdith sighed, smiling sadly. "My only pain is knowing that I spent ten years with a man I didn't know at all."

  
    Tina left the house with more things to think about than before. On the burglary of the locomotive, they had made no progress beyond intensifying the President's suspicions about the money being sent to anyone in the Ministry, even if they still had no names. As for Percival Graves's death, Tina still had two possibilities in mind: that man's ingestion of the lethal substance had been an accidental error in his desire to return to his addiction, or that it had been a deliberately induced error. Tina had hopes of solving that paradox by analyzing Graves's bank movements to identify the presence or absence of records about the purchase of blue capsules, in just over a month.

 

"You have very good assumptions, Goldstein." - Picquery murmured thoughtfully and Tina took it as an incentive to pursue her own intuitions.

  
    Tina drove the usual way to the criminal investigator's hotel, north of the town of Castle Combe, in total silence. They did not talk about anything for those long minutes, both of them with the incessant need to follow the path of their own thoughts.

 

 

 

 

    The sun was hiding behind the treetops as the vehicle cautiously descended the main street. Tina watched each passerby carefully, taking longer to observe the children to climb, laughing, at the stone structure of the Market Cross.

  
    One particular figure walked across the street and caught her attention. While maintaining his sturdy, confident stance as usual, the man's eyes remained fixed on the ground, determined to avoid returning the inquisitive glances of anyone walking in the opposite direction. Tina sighed, unable to comprehend the nature of the sensations that spread from her abdomen to her chest, but impatient to keep them to herself any longer.

  
    The woman parked beside the landmark of the small medieval town and marched, without further ado, to Achilles Tolliver's house, willing not to let him slip between her fingers once more.

  
"We have to talk." - she snapped. The man's eyes jumped in surprise from the doorknob to his girlfriend's face.

  
"Yes, Tina." - he murmured, revealing a living room steeped in darkness. "Come in."

  
    In the ambient light, everything about his house seemed to be out of place. Cups seemed forgotten on every living room furniture and papers were scattered everywhere. Some of them had fallen to the floor, others had been reduced to mere balls of crumpled paper. Tina absently ran her fingers over those on Achilles's dining table, among pens and markers, and the brown orbits widened as they found interest in one in particular.

  
"This is Percival Graves's bank movements." - Tina thought out loud.

  
"Yes it is." - the man glanced at the paper in the woman's hands. He was busy collecting the dishes in the dining room to take them to the kitchen. "With all the excitement of this weekend, I haven't had time to organize this mess, nor get rid of all the paperwork of the investigation."

  
    There were many lines and numbers that covered the surface of that paper, and Tina had no time to analyze that documentation. Hopefully, she checked the date of the transactions, certain they belonged to the three months prior to that one, just as she had asked Benjamin that very day. Tina almost jumped in joy but saw the man stop by the kitchen door, busy freeing the entire trail of buttons from his overcoat. Determined and willing not to miss the best potential opportunity she had, Tina quickly slipped the paper into her own coat pocket.

  
"I think we owe apologizes to each other." - he murmured.

  
"And I think your list is quite large." - Tina couldn't help the words before they escaped her lips.

  
"Very well. Then I must start." - he hissed, offended. "Forgive me, Tina, for doing my job and not telling you the real reason I was in Castle Combe, as your beloved boss demanded me to do."

  
"If you think I came here to play, you'd better stop now." - she expelled sharply.

  
"And what do you want then?" - he countered. "As far as I know, you owe me an apology for being unfair since the day you got here."

  
" _Unfair_?" - Tina repeated in disbelief. "I wouldn't have been 'unfair' if I had no reason for it. I didn't know about any of these things until a few days ago! All I knew was that you had disappeared for no apparent reason!"

 

"And what should I've done, then? Told my whole mission to you?"

  
"You could've told me the lie you told the whole department, it'd be better than nothing. You could've said you were tired, that you needed time away from everything and _everyone_." - she gave intensity to the world. "But you preferred me to hear whispers through the corridors of the Ministry and didn't even care if I'd spend three months thinking that the problem was _me_."

  
    Tina pressed her eyes shut tightly. There was no one else in the world who knew about the sleepless nights when she would take any mistake made or defect in her personality as blamed for his sudden detachment. No one could even imagine the feeling of remorse and insecurity at the thought of being guilty of something that she didn't even understand.

  
"I didn't think of it, okay?" - Achilles whispered, momentarily surrendered by the woman's words.

  
"You didn't think, did you?" - she murmured, hurt. "Tell the truth, Achilles, did you even think of me during any of these days?"

  
"Of course I did, Tina. What a stupid question." - he laughed. "Returning to you was my biggest motivation to finish this work."

  
"So why didn't you ever tell your family about me?"

  
    Of all the bitterness Tina carried over Achilles Tolliver, that was undoubtedly the most intense. She remembered Polydora's surprised and disbelieving look as she introduced herself as her brother's girlfriend, and the way she felt foolish enough to imagine being welcomed by the family of the one she once considered an engagement.

  
    The momentary pallor and regretful expressions on the man's face brought even more anger, and unpleasant feelings that she tried to disregard, to Tina's chest.

  
"I met your sister." - Tina's voice carried many of the emotions she would like to hide. "She seemed surprised to know you have a girlfriend."

  
"I really didn't tell them anything, Tina." - he confessed defeated. "I thought bringing you here and introducing you to my family when we were engaged was a good idea, but it seems I was wrong."

  
    Tina laughed, with no apparent humor, and the man stopped at his words and movements, acquiring a livid expression. Achilles Tolliver had had more convincing explanations, Tina thought. She bit her bottom lip, shaking her head in disbelief, and he swallowed hard. He couldn't lose that woman.

  
"I've messed up many times, but I'm willing to fix all my mistakes." - he risked a step toward the woman. "We'll have dinner with my family and, if you accept it, I forgive you for being a hypocrite and doing the very same things you're fighting me for."

  
"What?"

  
"Oh, Tina... Are you going to tell me that you're not at Castle Combe to investigate the locomotive's burglary? Or that Picquery didn't demand secrecy from you?"

  
"I'm not being a hypocrite, Achilles. I'm not fighting you for playing your role as an investigator. I'm fighting you for not playing your role as a boyfriend."

  
"And are you playing it?" - he laughed wryly. "You said you came to visit me, that you were worried about me, but you have your own home, spend more time at the police district than with me, keep in the pocket of your jacket documents of your suspect when you think I'm not looking..."

  
    Tina's lips parted as she prepared to counter that statement. She knew Achilles had important points in her speech that she could not deny, but she didn't feel at all guilty of such accusations. She didn't have to carry the feeling of being solely responsible for breaking that relationship up, not after all the vain attempts at communicating with Achilles in recent months. She stepped back against the dining table, realizing that he was walking toward her.

  
"But unlike you, I won't be _unfair_." - he stepped in front of her, lifting Tina's face by her chin so she could look him in the eye. "I did my job, you're doing yours. No fears, no hurts, our disagreements end here."

  
    The woman did not find it pleasant at all to feel the man's fingers running along the line of her jaw, or to have those hungry eyes assessing her static figure. During the three months they had kept apart, Tina had never considered that Achilles could be working in that city, nor that Picquery could require the same secrecy for two of her department officials when they were so close. However, even though she knew she was as wrong as Achilles in that situation, Tina didn't think she was unfair either. She knew that if she had been sent to Castle Combe to investigate Percival Graves's life, she would never have left Achilles so suddenly for him to be plunged into a sense of contempt and abandonment.

  
"You can keep the documentation you got..." - he whispered, pressing Tina between the table and his own body. "But only if you spend the night here with me."

  
    With the urge to dodge the man's unwanted and mischievous kisses, Tina risked a step to the side only to feel him hold her by the waist. Frowning at the fact that his lips were still stuck to her skin, Tina turned her face in time to watch him blindly search for the lost wallet among the many leaves scattered there. She exploded angrily as she felt him nibble on her earlobe and used both hands to pull him away from her neck.

  
"What do you think you're doing?" - she growled through her teeth.

  
    On impulse, Tina took the wallet from Achilles. She didn't have to dig through it for a long time to find out his intentions, or to take in hands the condom that there rested. Achilles's angry expressions in no way wavered the perplexity on Tina's face. Was she the only one between them who was still hurt enough not to think of anything else at the moment?

  
"No." - she said, decidedly. "I won't sleep with you."

  
    Achilles rolled his eyes, snorting audibly.

  
"What's the matter, Tina?" - he muttered, frustrated. "We've already sorted things out."

  
"We sorted things out? We hurt each other today." - she corrected, jerking away from him. "And I hate your ridiculous ways to sort things out."

  
    Judging herself one step closer to making hasty decisions, prompted by the wrath running through her veins, Tina marched to the front door without looking back. With Percival Graves's bank movements and the condom clenched in her hands, she made sure to slam the door hard enough so that the man wouldn't even consider opening it again.

 

 

 

 

    Employee payments. Airplane tickets. Funding for a library in Acton Turville. Purchase of new clothes in a couturier of the capital. The millionaire withdrawal of illegal money from the capital, highlighted by Achilles's yellow marker. Lots and lots of items, no drug records other than the usual red pill pack.

  
    Tina checked the bank transaction list several times, feeling her heart beat faster at each one. She knew she could not fully substantiate her hypothesis of murder, having only evidence that Percival Graves had apparently not been the buyer of the capsules responsible for his death. She knew that Picquery would require further investigation of their sender by the British Post Office and the real motivations to recommend the lethal association of both medications.

  
    Still, or perhaps for that very reason, Tina found herself dialing the President's number that night.

  
"Madam Picquery." - Tina hurried to recognize the woman's voice on the other end of the line. "It's an urgent matter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> I have something important to say in this note about the next updates of this work.  
> Well, as my holidays have come to an end in this month, I've no more time to make progress to the story and I stand no chance to continue with the week updates. But I still have 3 more finished chapters and I intend to post them once in a month until December, when I'll surely be able to resume the week updates.
> 
> Please, don't forget about this work in the meanwhile. I promise the best of this story is still to come!
> 
> Again, thank you very much for reading. You make everything worth it!
> 
> Lots of love,
> 
> Karolina.


	10. Foreboding.

The headline of one of Wiltshire County's most renowned newspapers surprised all its readers that morning in mid-January. It featured, in large, well-marked, easy-to-understand letters, yet another series of unexpected events for the inhabitants of the town of Castle Combe: the alleged murder of Percival Graves.

  
    Tina Goldstein, sitting at the table at Seraphina Picquery's room at the Manor House Hotel, clutched the handle of a mug tightly between her fingers and sighed quite often in discontent and resignation. She was not at all pleased by the ease with which this confidential affair, secreted by very few British ministry officials, had reached the country's most influential media.

  
    As had been expected by the young american woman, the President of the Investigations Department had begun a small and discreet mobilization in the capital to track down the tyramine capsules, find the names of those responsible for sending them to Percival Graves and, if very well founded, validate the murder theory. However, on such a sunny, calm morning of that week, before they had even assigned anyone to visit the National Post Office, neither woman could have foreseen the stormy leak of all the first movements of that mission by media outlets around the UK.

  
    Seraphina, in the midst of such inelegant grumblings, shared with Tina all the names of her suspects for spreading out those informations. It made sense to the younger woman, with each new name recklessly cited by Picquery, the President's old and persistent hypothesis of the Ministry's involvement in illegal activities. It seemed to her, now as clear as a day, that the exposure of a still underway ministerial operation for any British citizen was far from being a mere accident. Of all the things Tina had discovered about herself since her arrival in that city, it was of her ability to doubt unlikely misfortunes that she was most proud.

  
"They can make things difficult, they can erect barriers, they can even scream the aims of my investigations to everyone." - Picquery expelled the words with little delicacy. "But they won't stop us from finding out the truth, Tina. They won't!"

  
"We have to get to the post office records as soon as possible, Madam Picquery. Before they can do it first."

  
"They have provided our exposure for the whole country, Tina, they have compromised the whole course of our operation. One way or another, they have already done it before us."

  
"And what shall we do now then?" - Tina questioned. "Will we go back to London and rearrange the mission?"

  
"We won't go back to London. We can't carry our investigations under the Ministry's ceiling until they are finished." - Picquery answered immediately, certain of her words. "If we want to find out new information about the locomotive's burglary or the murder of Percival Graves, this is the safest place to do it."

  
    Tina nodded merely, with nothing to add. She was not surprised by the overflowing assertiveness in each word at the end of that speech, for she knew that Seraphina Picquery was also convinced about Percival Graves' premeditated death. Watching the ever-strong and imposing figure of the criminal investigator struggling to keep herself up on the thin heels of the varnished scarpin, she sipped some of her coffee to swallow her distress. Never before had she seen Seraphina Picquery so shaken.

  
"We will continue our mobilizations." Picquery informed her determinedly, after moments of constant pondering. "We'll interrogate the man that Eberdith spoke of, look for the sender of the drug who killed Percival Graves and defend us against the setbacks imposed by the Ministry. We'll reorganize the mission, just you and I, if necessary."

  
    Picquery walked a few steps until she was facing the short-haired brunette, bending down to meet her eyes. The investigator's black irises carried a different glow on their surfaces, and Tina knew that her mind worked with deeper motives than the simply ambition to solve a case. Tina shuddered at the feeling of foreboding. They were about to wage a battle of empires.

  
"You're the best investigator in my department, Tina. You're the only one I trust." - Picquery took the woman's hands in her own and her words sounded almost like a plea. " _We need to get to the end._ "

 

 

 

    There was a deafening silence installed at the Graves Mansion.

  
    The daily newspaper circulated, hand in hand, to plunge each of the mansion's occupants into haunted ponders. The vicious cycle was repeated: eyes widened, fixed to the headline on the back of the main page. They ran fast through the printed lines to the end of the three great columns. They narrowed, relaxed, shifted to the marble floor in complete silence, became opaque in concentration, remembered how to blink only when Anna Baulier's whines exploded through the walls of those rooms.

  
"Murdered? Inside this house?" - and the woman shook her head in continuous denial. "That's not possible..."

  
    John Baulier leaned against the entrance to the dining room. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, and from time to time raised them to the dark-haired woman sitting at the table, with the journal in her hands, and to the light-haired lady walking in infinite circles.

  
"What led the investigators to this conclusion?" - he asked.

  
"The autopsy and Percival's medications." - Eberdith answered, resting the pages of the article on the table. "Seraphina Picquery and I talked about them on her last visit, her team seems to be engaged in understanding an apparent correlation between the usual drugs and those blue capsules he received from London. The article says their association is lethal."

  
"Who could do such a thing to such a good man? God!" - Anna raised her hands to the heavens in exasperation. "And for what reason?"

  
    Eberdith closed the diary pages and folded them in half, livid and silent, feeling numb with each new mention of her husband's name. There was nothing that could be done, the woman repeated to herself, to comfort all her sorrows and to soothe the sense of despair that was screaming in her being with each new day.

  
    She slid the delicate newspaper material across the table, directing the only man in the room one last, short look. After a minimum second of interaction, John lowered the blue irises to the object extended toward him. Always busy, he was the only one who had not yet set eyes on the informative article.

  
"After all the things brought up lately, discovering that my husband had enemies would not be a surprise, Anna." - Eberdith sighed, displeased.

 

 

 

 

    Newt removed the pot of boiling water from the stove under Philipe's ever-curious eyes. The little boy watched him pour the contents over some herbs at the bottom of a glass jug, and soon the strong scent of the infusion steamed through the small, modest kitchen.

  
"The tea must rest for a few hours, so that the healing properties of licorice are diffused by water, Philipe." - he explained and the little boy nodded. "You can pour her a cup at the end of each night."

  
    Descending from the stool that allowed him to see over the stove at all times when he prepared meals, the boy accompanied the visitor to the porch of the house. The rocking chair creaked at the usual and ever-present movements of the lady that coughed frequently. The dark sky was rising over the orange of that late afternoon, bringing with it the cool, uncomfortable breeze of the next night.

  
"The infusion should reduce her coughing." - Newt assured, giving the little one's hair a caressing stroke. "And I'll be back tomorrow at the same time."

  
"I wish you lived with us, Newt." - Philipe murmured, sad for the departure of his colleague.

  
    Newt bent down to level his eyes with the boy's. Hearing things like that and feeling unable to do anything to arouse Philipe a genuine smile used to broke his heart. He was dedicated to sharing as much as he could with that family, as if he really belonged to it, but couldn't help feeling his chest tighten as he considered the possibility that unhappiness still lurked behind those little innocent eyes.

  
"I bet you couldn't stand me around for more than a day." - Newt teased, lightly pinching the boy's nose between thumb and forefinger. "I usually talk while I sleep."

  
"How do you know if you're sleeping?" - Philipe frowned in confusion.

  
"Because for this very reason Theseus used to mock me when I was a child." - Newt smiled, happy to see Philipe laugh. "It's a good reason to get a room just for yourself."

 

"I have two rooms just for myself." - Philip considered. "One in my house and one in your house."

  
"So you're very lucky, lad." - Newt laughed, opening his arms to embrace the little figure in a tight hug.

  
    Newt laid a tender kiss on the foreheads of both residents before leaving the house, that early evening. He pressed his coat against his body to shield himself from a draft that swept the street where he walked. Several establishments closed their doors in another day of work, and delicious roast scents escaped through the windows of those houses. On the main street, amidst passersby, the quartet that left the police district instantly cried out for the young zoologist's attention.

  
    Theseus, with his always robust and haughty pose, gestured to his listeners, and Tina, concentration and seriousness on her face, nodded to his monologue at regular intervals. Newt remembered the cover of the local journal of that morning and did not have to think too much to guess the discussed matter.

  
"You must take to the railway station the license for restarting the locomotive's activities, Oliver." - it was the first thing that Newt heard as he approached the group.

  
"I'll take it now, Theseus. The staff have been rushing us for days." - then Oliver turned to his mate. "Are you coming with me, Ben? I can take you home after."

  
    Benjamin and Oliver muttered their goodbyes and crossed the main street to the car parked on the opposite bank. By the time Newt realized it, his presence had already been noticed by the remaining duo.

  
"There you are." - Theseus greeted, patting slightly on the shrunken shoulders of Newt. "Miss Goldstein, this is Newton, my brother."

  
"I think we've already met." - Tina announced, smiling at Newt, and Theseus risked quick and curious glances for the pair, interested in the slight flush installed on both faces. He would have questions for the youngest brother.

  
"Well, seems like my presentations are dismissed..." - he shrugged at last. "If you'll excuse me, I'm late for a dinner with my wife."

  
    Theseus nodded cordially to Newt and Tina before heading for his own vehicle, being followed with interest by the curious eyes of several pedestrians. Assuming that long day was over, Tina lowered her eyelids to release a tired sigh.

  
"If you weren't here, I would have been obliged to accompany him to this dinner..." - Newt seemed genuinely relieved. Tina laughed.

  
"I'm glad to see that you're fine." - she commented.

  
    That early evening, bathed in the golden aura of a beautiful sunset, Newt seemed to fit perfectly in Castle Combe. His freckles accompanied the clarity of watery irises, his scruffy T-shirt emanated the subtle scent of fragrant herbs, and he smiled lightly and innocently at his own feet. Tina considered bringing some delicacy to such a heavy day a very fine idea.

  
"What do you think about having that drink with me, now?" she ventured.

 

 

 

    Chairs and more chairs laid vacant around the establishment, that night. There was something melancholy about the slow beat of the music that played to no one in particular. Sitting at a table in the back, Newt and Tina waited for the bar attendant to approach. That night she wore a silver satin twill dress of long sleeves, that reflected the various colours of the globe of light, and her brown hair rested tied back in a purposefully messy style.

  
"What do you want, Scamander?" - she asked, slightly interested in the unprecedented union of two of her most peculiar customers.

  
"I think I'll have the usual, Meredith."

  
"He'll have the best english beer you have." - Tina's voice emerged over the others.

  
"Tina, you don't-"

  
"I thought we had a deal?" - the woman raised a defiantly eyebrow at him. "Today is on me."

  
    The attendant's eyes darted to the faces of both occupants of that table. Meredith made a brief analysis of Newt's behavior and pondered the best explanations for him to be so tense, so shy, and so flushed. Pressing her lips shut to avoid an inappropriate smile, she slid the pen across the notebook in hand.

  
"The best English and the best Irish..." - Meredith hissed slowly.

  
    Dragging her orbits to both corners of her eyes one last time, the attendant whirled on her heels to gracefully parade toward the coolers.

  
"Tina, there was no need..."

  
"That's the least I can do to repay what you did for me."

  
    Still embarrassed, Newt just grinned beneath the messy fringe of hair.

  
"So are you really investigating Mr. Graves's death?" - his question escaped his lips in a low voice. Tina silently thanked him for that.

  
    She stared at the man for a moment, searching for the most appropriate answer to that question.

  
    Tina knew she had been exposed since the first time she'd sought him for help. At that moment, after the recent events since the morning when they worked together in his shed, she knew she was for him like a completely open book. Still, unlike all the times when she had felt vulnerable and insecure within those city walls, Tina was not at all uncomfortable in circumventing Seraphina Picquery's most important recommendation alongside Newt Scamander.

  
    Exactly everything about that eccentric figure gave her confidence. Behind his kind eyes and embarrassed cheeks, she knew the man held very little beyond infinite goodwill, naive interests and goals, and an unquestionably stubborn ability to spare no effort to help anyone. Newt didn't seem to be looking for power, and in such crazy times Tina found in such a feature a great value.

  
    From the corners of her eyes, she saw Meredith approaching the table with both bottles in hand. Patiently, she kept her words until the loose strands of the attendant's hair were swaying away from that place.

  
"Yes, Newt. Please don't tell anyone."

  
    More than a request, Tina's words sounded like a plea to his ears. For some reason, talking openly about that matter brought to Tina un unexpected relief.

  
"I will never tell, Tina." - Newt assured her.

  
    Tina gave him a tight smile, willing to look at the bottles with different labels right after. She enjoyed the bitterness of the Irish drink against her throat and held back a grunt of satisfaction. Newt, on the opposite side of the table, did not seem to be bothered by the reddish tone of the warm palm of his hand against the freezing material of the bottle. Tina watched him for a moment, wanting too much to change the course of their conversation as much as to hear the things he would have to say.

  
"Since I told you a secret of mine..." - Tina ventured, watching Newt reappear behind the English label. "You could tell me a secret from Newt Scamander."

  
"Oh, I think you would be disappointed." - he laughed, resting the bottle on the table. "My life is not so exciting."

  
"Everyone has a secret, Newt." - Tina leaned against the back of the chair, crossing her arms casually across her chest. "And you must have some good history of your researches to tell."

  
    Observant as she was, the instant gleam in Newt's eyes had not passed by Tina unnoticed, and she bit the inside of her cheeks to prevent smiling. He stared at the woman's shoulder to contain an exaggerated unpretentious smile on his lips, and then chose a series of happy adventures to accompany them to the end of their drinks.

    Many were the subjects discussed by Tina and Newt that night, and so were the beer bottles consumed. Between the first and the second, they began to talk about old and nostalgic stories of their school days. Between the second and third, they criticized the corporate monopoly around the world, shared personal projects for the future, and laughed at a confessed weird craze in a moment of comfort.

  
    On the fourth, Tina swirled on the table the beige container of an empty English bottle and laughed lightly as the open end pointed back toward the man. It was the fifth time the act was repeated in a few minutes, and Newt had to laugh at his apparent bad luck in that game.

  
"I'm running out of questions!" - she laughed louder than she should have. "A tacky movie that you love?"

  
" _Footloose_." - he snapped and she scowled in response. "It's a classic!"

  
"It's terrible!"

  
"Then tell me you."

  
"You didn't spin the bottle." - she denied. Her lips had a constant smile.

  
"If I spin this thing around, I'll keep answering awkward questions for the rest of the night."

  
"You have no secrets." - she shrugged, like a child. "Nothing fairer than me proceeding with my embarrassing questions."

  
    Tina raised her eyebrows defiantly, bringing her bottle to her lips to turn it in another long gulp. She had sweetly rosy cheek and nose from the three empty bottles of beer in front of her, and Newt was unable to look away from that detail along that night.

  
    _She was beautiful_ , he thought all the time, _and she was so free, so spontaneous and so loose_. How he wished he could see her that way on other occasions... But whenever he let himself be overwhelmed by such thoughts, he was soon filled with the strange awkwardness of their impropriety. He could not be charmed by her, it was not fair to himself doing so. Tina was engaged to someone else and would not return the same enchantment, at least not before returning to London and disappearing, once and for all, from the city of Castle Combe.

  
    Newt's cheerful countenance melted into melancholy as he realized that the feeling brought out thoughts and discomforts that had long been dormant in sad contentment. He was swallowing that strange lump in his throat for the second time.

  
"I've been in love with my brother's wife."

  
    The words escaped Newt's lips. They were the last hisses before a heavy silence fell between the pair. The amused expressions on Tina's face gradually faded as the man sought the courage to resume his confession.

  
"We were kids when we met. Her family moved from France to Castle Combe and we became very close friends, the three of us. Leta was my best friend for a long time, the most amazing person I knew, who was interested in things I had to say and didn't care about my way of being." - Newt paused, and a sad smile broke out on his lips. "But Theseus was older, more open, more... the 'Theseus' way of being. Leta deserved someone like him, and she knew she deserved it. I was the best man at their wedding."

  
    There was too much hurt in his eyes for Newt's smile to be convincing. Tina listened to everything with respect and attention, feeling her chest tighten at every new statement he confessed.

  
"I'm so sorry about that, Newt."

  
"It's fine. And that was a long time ago..." - he fiddled with the bottle label to avoid Tina's glances. "Leta and Theseus are very happy now and I'm happy for them."

  
"You two are very different." - Tina said after a moment, and the man's clear orbits turned curiously toward her. "But being less outgoing, more shy, younger, taller or shorter than your brother doesn't mean you have a different value to anyone. I'm sure many people know this and like you for all that you are."

  
"Do you really think so, Tina?" - he asked, taking all the woman's words by heart. "That someone could like me for what I am?"

  
    The woman's brown eyes darted to meet his hopeful gaze. _Like Newt for what he is?_ She almost laughed, finding the question comical. Would he really have doubts about the answer to that question?

  
    Always very quiet, clumsy in stance and insecure, Newt Scamander would easily pass unnoticed by more than half of that bar if it was filled with drunk customers. His cautious walk between the tables would not even be noticed, and he would make his way out silently, hiding a drawing of himself colored in pencil between his robes. It would carry a good story about an orphan boy, a small town, and his lovely devotation for his big best friend.

  
    He would go home alone and silent, and would not hear from any of those people that the bronze of the dry leaves on the roof of his house matched the messy hair of his bangs. Willing to get up early the next day, it would take him less than five minutes to fall asleep, and he would tell no one that he had once helped rescue a trapped little girl in Sudan.

  
    He would tell no one that he writes a book about the importance of preserving the most valuable possessions of humanity, nor that he works in a small shed at the back of his house to rescue, feed, and shelter animals in need. He would tell no one the funny story about an american woman, a dangerous and unusual request, and his immense willingness to help her in turn of nothing special. What a pity.

  
     _Like Newt for what he is?_

  
"It would be madness not to do so..." - unconsciously, Tina let one of her thoughts slip through her lips.

  
    Tina tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in a momentary embarrassment. She turned the remaining contents of her bottle at once, feeling dizzy at the amount of alcohol pouring down her throat. Newt still had his eyes fixed on the woman as she set, in a thud, the glass on the table.

  
"I think it's a little late, Newt." - Tina reached for the jacket that hung on the back of her chair, unable to meet his gaze. "I better go."

  
"Please, stay." - he murmured, sad to see her leaving. "Or allow me to escort you to your house."

  
"Don't bother yourself." - she risked him a cordial smile. "Thanks for the conversation, the laughter and the company tonight."

  
    Newt flashed a crooked smile in contentment. He shouldn't have liked the woman's company so much if he knew it would come to an end.

  
"I think I'll see you around..." - she stood up, pressing the garment against her body as she prepared to face the late-night fog. "If I don't see you in twenty steps, I see you in twenty-five, thirty... That number you said and I don't remember now."

  
    Newt's laughter had more melody to Tina than the radio song, and she couldn't help by it being contagiated. She stared at her feet to hide her flushed cheeks, as if the scarlet tone contrasted with her usual pallor might pass by anyone unnoticed.

  
    She shouldn't have liked the man's company so much...

  
"Fifteen." - he nodded, a stubborn smile left on his lips before the woman turned to head out of the establishment.

  
"Even worse!"

  
    Newt watched Tina leave the bar on her slow, relatively hesitant walk, probably caused by the beer bottles she had consumed. He smiled to himself, analyzing the bittersweet feeling as he could memorize simple but significant moments lived unexpectedly that night. He had some new adjectives to add to the list of usual compliments related to the american woman.

  
    He just looked away from the front door, where the woman had disappeared, when the silver color of the young attendant's dress came back into view. Newt snorted discreetly, analyzing the contents of the bottle in his hands. At that moment, in Tina's absence, the drink seemed much more bitter and less pleasurable than before.

  
"The London girl, huh?" - the woman joked, picking up the empty bottles at the table.

  
"She's an american, Meredith." - Newt corrected.

  
"I know." - she flashed him a corner smile. "She's just your type. _Foreign, engaged_..."

  
    Newt followed the urge to get up suddenly from his chair. He was unwilling not to resume those considerations that evening.

  
"Have you kissed her yet?"

  
"Of course not. She has a boyfriend and you know that." - Newt snorted impatiently.

  
"You should go after her, Newt." - Meredith continued, shrugging. "She seems happier with the idea of going to your house than visiting Tolliver, if you ask me."

  
"How do you know she went to my house?"

  
    Momentarily interrupting her task of balancing the bottles on the tray, the woman raised both eyebrows in surprise.

  
"Oh, I didn't, but now I know." - she gave Newt a mischievous smile. "Dating always comes to an end, Scamander. Besides, people are whispering that their relationship is on the edge of breaking."

  
"I don't know what you want with this, Meredith, but you better stop." - he warned. "Leave Tina alone."

  
"I don't want anything." - the woman let out a nasal laugh. "I'm finally leaving this city."

  
"Leaving Castle Combe?" - Newt frowned. Meredith smiled, showing all her teeth. There was a different sparkle in her eyes.

  
"You are facing the new _London girl_ , Scamander."

  
    Taking the bottle from Newt's hands in the midst of loud, exaggerated laughter, Meredith winked at him one last time before resuming her graceful walk and disappearing into the back of the establishment.

 

 

 

 

    Seraphina Picquery couldn't say what had really awakened her, that night.

  
    An icy breeze drifted through the crack between the two panes of the windows of her room, as an omen, to cause a strange shiver to the back of her neck. It was soft and thin, and dragged the lace curtain across the floor in an uncomfortable hiss, like a ragged breath.

  
    The woman closed her eyes, cradled by the comfort of the heavy linen blanket, but she wasn't able to plunge back into her dreams. Goose bumps ran down her spine to be spread through her arms and the woman considered getting up to close the window for the second time. She didn't have to, however. As soon as it was present, the breeze vanished, carrying with it all the creeps and annoyances of the criminal investigator. All but the ragged breathing behind her back.

  
    Picquery listened attentively for a few seconds, making sure she wasn't delirious, before quickly sitting on the mattress and meeting the silhouette propped in the corner of the room, partially lit by the heavenly light.

  
    The metallic clatter jolted between the woman's hasty exhales and she didn't have to look at the intruder's hands to know what they were holding. Moments after that, the silver barrel of the pistol was turned toward herself, steady, unmoving, without hesitation. The woman's terrified eyes instinctively lifted to the lit half of that face, in which the lethal glow of angry eyes gleamed, and she wished they hadn't.

  
     _Those eyes_. She could recognize them anywhere. Once so different, so calm and innocuous... But the woman knew she truly saw them for the first time. 

     
    _Those eyes?_ It couldn't be! That made no sense, Picquery thought, her mind working fast. Unless...

  
"Does _she_ know that you're here?"

  
     Seraphina Picquery's words echoed shrilly amid the silence of the dark room. She knew she had asked the wrong question when the other's eyes narrowed in anger and the thunderous sound of the gunshot cut through her ears to steal her breath. Once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one is safe. Any bets?


	11. The man in the hat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm glad to see you here!
> 
> Just a quick warning: there might be explicit scenes in this chapter. If you're not ok with this type of content (violence, consensual smut...), I don't recommend the end of this update.
> 
> Have a good read!

The corridors of the University of Birmingham Forensic Medicine Society had a harrowing green uniformity. This one, in particular, was as long as it was narrow, filled with always-closed white doors, and seemed to crush the visitor against the autopsy windowpane.

  
    Tina stood steady, despite the instability of her tired body on both her legs. She had not slept the night before, or the night before that one. She wasn't hungry, wasn't thirsty, wasn't sleepy, wasn't even capable of being afraid. The woman thought she was dizzy, empty, numb to the core of her being. In her pale face, coloring the ever-present milky pallor, heavy dark circles hung under both anguished eyes as they were kept fixed on the scene before them.

  
    The small silver object appeared between the delicate arms of the surgical forceps and Tina lowered her eyelids to contain the throbbing burning of her eyes. A single, accurate shot fired straight into the heart of Seraphina Picquery. A silver bullet and less than a second needed to install an eternal silence to the woman's lips.

  
    Tina still had a hard time believing that was not a nightmare, she had a hard time believing that she had awakened to the sound of frantic knocking on her door to receive, by the agitated and frightened figure of Benjamin, the news of the murder at Manor House. She still remembered seeing Picquery for the last time, scolding over the unforeseen leaking of their investigations, brave, strong, determined as she was. There, facing her motionless and partially covered silhouette, Tina refused to believe that the quiet town of Castle Combe was dealing with murder for the second time.

  
    Still with her eyes closed, the woman could only feel two firm arms wrapping her around her waist, and the usual male cologne filled her nostrils. She wasn't bothered at all with the man's presence. Achilles was the only living memory of a peaceful past that the woman still held.

  
"You should rest." - he whispered against her hair.

  
"I can't." - she answered, her voice husky with disuse.

  
    Rest. An impossible task for Tina. Her protective instinct kept her eyes and ears constantly functioning, alert, and she couldn't help but think about the possibility that she might be there, where Picquery was lying, in the future.

  
    What if she was the next target? What if that was her last day? Tina thought she wouldn't even be able to close her eyes.

  
    With a deep breath, Achilles took a step back to watch her for a moment. She remained paralyzed, weak, with few words, much fear and a gaze as blank as he had never seen before. Still, she stood stubbornly contemplative and didn't seem to be considering surrender. Tired as he was, Achilles didn't think he would have the patience to deal with this woman's resistance anymore.

  
"Travers has just arrived." - he muttered at last. "He wants to talk to us."

  
"I don't want to talk to him."

  
    The slightest possibility of facing the man who aroused deep and well-founded suspicions in Seraphina Picquery made Tina's wrists tremble, clenched into fists, as if they wanted to vent all her frustration. Before she could combine all her motives for characterizing Torquil Travers as a cold-blooded killer, a firm, heavy hand gripped her painfully by the elbow.

  
"He is the President now." - the man hissed, impatiently. "It's not like you have a choice."

  
    With her arms always crossed in a protective instinct, Tina set her flesh free from Achilles's heavy fingers. Unwilling to obey, she could only hear the sounds of the man's shoes slamming into the ground on his return to the lobby, and she reluctantly remained on her spot for a few moments longer.

  
    When the subtly blood-stained white plastic covered the criminal investigator's calm, expressionless face, Tina felt more lonely and vulnerable than ever before. Her eyes wandered, quick and suspicious, to either sides of that empty corridor. It was as good as it was bad to be alone, and Tina enjoyed as much as she could that deafening silence before returning to the inevitable lobby.

 

 

 

    There he was. The hat always on top of his head, his jacket always lined up as if he expected to be the focus of attention at any moment. He was a middle-aged man, with some gray hair standing out from his sideburns. He carried a sneer on his lips as he talked to two ministerial officials, whom Tina had bumped into once or twice since arriving in London. Tina hated him from the first moment she'd laid eyes on the man who had fervently criticized her hiring. And she hated, more than anything else in the world, seeing him occupy the position of someone so incredibly capable.

  
    Announced the woman's presence, Torquil Travers gave her a short, arrogant look. He dismissed whatever issues the small group debated and approached, his hands hidden in his jacket pockets giving him a pompous walk, before clearing his throat to begin his speech.

  
"The crime scene survey and the collection of materials to begin our investigations have just ended." - The man informed the circle of people. "I will assign a team of my trust to work exclusively on the case. The murder of Seraphina Picquery is as much a fatality as an offense to our department."

  
"When will you stop pretending?"

  
    Tina had no intention of stopping the words before they were vocalized, nor did she regret using an ironic, harsh, angry tone on them. So intense was her anger that the woman didn't notice all the surprised eyes turned in her direction. All she saw was Torquil Travers's puckered face.

  
"What did you say?" - he knit his eyebrows under his gray hat.

  
"A fatality? Really?" - Tina satirized. "You always wanted to take her place, Travers."

  
"What are you implying, Goldstein?" - Travers's voice rose a few quarters.

  
"Confess that you set a plot to weaken her in the Department Presidency and failed when the announcement of Percival Graves' illicit activities came to light. Confess that you exposed Madam Picquery's investigation across the country in an attempt to stop it." - the words shot straight from the woman's lips. "Do you really want someone to believe you think her murder was a fatality?"

  
    In the small lobby of the building a troublesome and malicious noise was settled. The man's lips opened and closed successively, never actually vocalizing his thoughts. Tina felt one of her temporal arteries throb in response to her discontent.

  
"Mr. Travers, Miss Goldstein is still shocked by what has happened. She has been sleepless for two days and is certainly confused by her accusations." - it was Achilles' voice that spoke up. He risked a step ahead of the woman in an attempt to block whatever were her attempts at retaliation.

  
"Then I will be brief, so that Miss Goldstein can finally have a good night's sleep." - Travers answered, returning Tina's disapproving gaze with the same intensity. "I want you both back to London. I will take over all investigations from now on: the locomotive theft, the possible murder of Percival Graves and, now, the murder of Seraphina Picquery. You will both be assigned to either of these cases."

  
"I'm not going back." - Tina countered, fast and assertive. "I may be signing my death warrant right now, but I won't stop following Madam Picquery's orders to follow yours."

  
    For Torquil Travers, that was enough. His voice broke out like a bomb.

  
"You will do exactly as I say, Goldstein, because Picquery is dead and I am your new President!" - Travers hissed each word slowly, forcing them between clenched teeth.

  
    Without waiting for an answer, realizing that his face was burning red with disgust, the man turned on his heels to begin a sturdy walk and disappear through the brick archway of the building entrance. Tina remained motionless, panting, following the man with her eyes all the way. She blinked only as Achilles Tolliver's livid, astonished face came into view.

  
"Are you crazy?" - he exasperated. "Do you have any idea what you just did?"

  
"I did what I swore to do when I became an investigator, Achilles: I chose the side of justice."

  
"You choose the side of justice? You just insinuated that the president of your department made a plot against Picquery!"

  
"I'm not insinuating anything, I'm telling the truth." - Tina countered. "And he is not a president to me."

  
"Listen, Tina. I know things are being hard for you, but countering Travers won't make them better." - Achilles sighed. "You're a British Ministry's investigator, just as I am, and our department has a new presidency. What we must do now is plan our return to the capital, as he told us to."

  
"I'm not going back. How many times do I need to repeat?"

  
"And what are you doing alone in Castle Combe, by any chance?"

  
"I will keep on with Madam Picquery's investigations."

  
"Well, that's exactly what we'll do in London." - Achilles crossed his arms, impatiently.

  
"You don't understand, Achilles. Very dirty things happen in the hallways of the Ministry and Travers has a monopoly on them all. Percival Graves's illegal activities, the embezzlement, his murder... Madam Picquery has confessed things to me and I can't just ignore them! "- Tina expelled the words at once, praying for Achilles to understand. "She trusted both of us for these investigations because she knew the Ministry would be involved in all these crimes and we wouldn't be like them." - Tina's eyes begged more than her words. "Someone killed her, Achilles, and we need find out who and why."

  
    To Achilles, every word Tina recited with intensity seemed to be spoken in a different language, and he seemed little gifted at understanding them in depth. There was disbelief and pity behind the man's big, scared eyes, and Tina, tired of fighting all his stubbornness, wished intimately that he would not contradict her in his next words.

  
"We don't have to do anything, Tina. Picquery is dead and nothing will bring her back."

  
"So that's it? Will you really work for Travers?"

  
"If 'work for Travers' means doing what I get paid to do, yes. I'll work for him."

  
"So you chose the side of my biggest opponent."

  
    Tina's statement, though painful to her own ears, was not at all unexpected to her. Achilles had long ago chosen to turn his back on all her convictions, chosen to nullify her opinions and feelings. At that moment, to the extreme of the opposing words exchanged between the couple, had chosen to be her enemy. It wasn't like a surprise.

  
    Tina turned away from Achilles's tormented gaze and, certain that nothing better could be said from the both of them, quietly began the way that would lead her back to the unpredictability of the outside world. She was too tired to keep up with that. She was too tired of constant annoyance, constant unpleasant colds in her stomach. Breaking connections with everything familiar to her still seemed difficult, and she was sure she would never get used to that strange constancy, but she had had enough from him.

  
    Before she could be bathed by a few rays of sunlight, however, Achilles's voice broke the silence again.

  
"You saw with your own eyes the end of your beloved Seraphina Picquery's legacy." - he hissed irritably. "She got herself into a crossroads and dragged you with her. You're lucky to get out of this alive."

  
"Then I have to do justice for her death." - she muttered over her shoulder. "And I'll die trying if I have to."

  
    Without risking a backward glance, the woman disappeared through the brick archway.

 

 

 

    Tina swallowed the lingering lump in her throat all the way from Birmingham to Castle Combe, concentrating on steering the wheel as carefully as she could. She didn't want to think about anything at that moment, didn't want to remember her entire list of disturbances and, contrary to all expectations, sighed relatively more relieved as she drove the vehicle into the small medieval town.

  
    It was there, among those brick houses and ever-wet streets, that were hidden the answers the woman sought. And it was there, among the ever-curious faces of those people, that Tina would infiltrate herself to uncover all the secrets of Castle Combe. But on that cold, colorless evening Tina just wanted to get her thoughts in order with a cup of hot chocolate. Or two, if she was lucky.

  
    The woman parked the vehicle in front of the house where she lived, tapping her thumbs behind the wheel without fully realizing it. A fine drizzle covered the building's roof to disappear across the low lawn surrounding it. When she slammed the car door and stared at her weary features reflected in the black bodywork, however, Tina had no will in her mind to walk the short way to the entrance of her residence. Under dozens of icy drops, her feet guided her through the streets to the peculiar house of number seven.

  
    There was no smoke in the chimney, but the living room lights streamed through the curtains to announce the presence of its resident. Tina walked slowly to the door, giving the material three soft knocks. It took Newt a few moments to answer the call, but he came up with his tousled hair and scruffy shirt eventually. His eyes jumped in surprise at the recognition of his visitor, but soon they identified the tiredness and grief on that face. He gave her a tight, sad smile.

  
"Tina."

  
"Hello, Newt." - she tried to smile back. "Did I come at a bad time?"

  
"Of course not. Please come in."

  
    Tina looked down at her own feet as she entered the living room. A radio was turned on from some of those rooms to play a cheerful old ballad through the warm, cozy atmosphere. She sighed deeply as she felt her body heavy on her tired legs and inhaled, unintentionally, the delicious aroma of something being prepared in the kitchen. Her stomach let out a small growl, protesting all the overturned meals of those past days, but Tina struggled to ignore it.

  
"I'm so sorry about it, Tina." - Newt muttered ruefully, and Tina nodded her thanks.

  
    Newt studied her for a moment. The once-bright brown orbits lurked, opaque, at the back of purple spots that signaled unrestrained nights. She was thinner and paler than usual, and her long, thin fingertips, when not wrapped around her own arms in a defensive gesture, trembled slightly. She seemed to waver between uncertainty and embarrassment.

  
"Sorry to show up without warning, Newt. I just..." - Tina sighed, defeated. There was no reason to design fake excuses to hide her real feelings from Newt. "I just didn't want to be alone. Silence compels me to think."

  
    Tina looked fragile, and to Newt, in secret and silent remarks, that adjective definitely didn't fit her. More than anything else in the world, he wanted to take her in his arms, wrap her in a warm, fuzzy cloak, and offer, as a consolation, a plate full of baked cookies accompanied by a glass of milk.

  
    But Newt knew that Tina was not a child, and that his usual methods would not help her overcome her deepest and most recent traumas. As he always thought, the young woman was something new in his life, an unknown territory yet to be explored. A creature he should still, and would love to, be able to study.

  
"You will always be welcome here, Tina." - his tone had never been so genuine. "I'm preparing dinner. Do you like to cook?"

  
"Queenie has always been better in the kitchen than me." - for a second, a loving smile lit the woman's features. However, as quickly as it appeared, it broke down to plunge it into an even sadder face than before. "I do. I really do."

  
    He invited her into his kitchen, a room filled with straw-colored cabinets with a single rectangular table in the middle. There were some vegetables on the stove and a pasta to be poured into a pan on the marble counter. Clinging to the opportunity to focus her attention on something light and laborious that would momentarily make her forget all about the outside world, Tina hurried to help him cut broccoli, hearts of palm and tomatoes for the filling of that pie.

 

 

 

"This view is so beautiful."

  
    Tina swept her eyes around the scenery for what must have been the hundredth time. The twinkling lights of the city, highlighted in the surrounding darkness, brought her unexpected comfort. Accompanied by Newt, she sat on the roof of his house in a sort of skylight accessed through the stairs of his working shed. Tina could see the relief drawing asymmetrical figures in the distance, beyond the river that bounded the entrance to Castle Combe. A cold, damp wind kissed her cheeks and lifted the ends of the towel that protected them from the dampness of the tiles. Between them rested a small basket of straw, where rectangular pieces of a vegetable pie now occupied half the original space. Both pairs of hands warmed themselves with a delicious cup of cocoa. Watching the surrounding darkness, oblivious to Newt's quick but steady glances, Tina thought that lull seemed surreal.

  
"If you look down you will see that you're close to very little." - he murmured, his chin indicating the short expanse of that city. "If you look up, however, you will see that you are right in the middle of everything."

  
    Just above their heads, between one cloud and another, countless stars hung from the obscure veil of heaven. There was nothing between them and infinity. Tina's lips twitched in an involuntary smile.

  
"It's poetic." - she hugged her knees contemplatively. "Like a moment of peace in the chaos."

  
    There was a discreet but noticeable coloring returned to Tina's delicate face and Newt sighed with relief. However, she still carried heavy dark circles under her eyes and a constant alert and fearful look on her irises. The way she hugged her body in protection made him think that Tina had a silent sense of vulnerability all the time.

  
"I can't stop thinking it could have been me, Newt." - she confessed. Her voice was so low it barely traversed the draft. "I can't stop thinking that the next target might be me."

  
    Tina couldn't tell if her loudly confessed fears eased or aggravated the incessant tightness in her stomach. A few inches away, Newt's breath was catched, and he felt dizzy and paralyzed at the slightest thought of that possibility.

  
"I watched the autopsy in Birmingham. Seeing the bullet was like reality had fallen over me like a cold shower. "- she resumed her confessions, closing her eyes for a moment. "As if that were not enough, I confronted the one who, for me, is the main suspect in the murder of Madam Picquery and happens to be my new boss."

  
"Did you confront him?" - Newt was worried. "Tina, this can be dangerous..."

  
"I know, Newt, but I was so angry..." - Tina's voice faltered. "Picquery never trusted Travers, and suspected that he was covering up politicians and criminal businessmen across the country. He has always struggled to pull her out of power, barred so many investigations, and now he is the President, runs the entire Department and can do whatever he wants! I lost my temper as I faced him."

  
"Everything seems to fit together perfectly, like a plot." - Newt took in the information and Tina nodded.

  
"That's exactly what I think." - Tina pressed her knees more tightly against her chest. It was comforting to be understood.

  
"Were you two very close?" - he wanted to know.

  
"Picquery has always been a very responsible and, consequently, busy President. I had never approached her until I was assigned to investigate the burglary of Seven Chambers." - Tina sighed, nostalgic for a not too distant past. "Still, she always showed respect and care for me, and she valued my safety very much. Before we moved to Castle Combe, she told me that I should act as a registrar and hide my true occupation to protect myself. And she always said that I should trust no one, either."

  
    Newt digested Tina's words in a respectful silence. He stuck to one particular sequence: Tina should trust no one. But as far as his senses kept him aware of reality, she was standing a few inches away, confessing to him things that were too deep and private, as she had been doing so since the day they met. _Did Tina trust Newt?_ He wondered. His chest burned at those conclusions, as if a rush of adrenaline invaded his arteries to tingle his stomach. But he shook those thoughts away. It wasn't fair to the woman's pain to cling to them at such an inappropriate time.

  
"It's really bad to think I'll be alone from now on." - was what she chose to say in response to Newt's silence.

  
    Tina's words were swallowed by a deafening, melancholy noise that run through the streets of Castle Combe. A bright light broke the darkness to the north, running alone along the banks of the city. It vacillated between thick treetops and reappeared through the chimneys. Two shrill whistles screamed through the night. Everything and everyone seemed to freeze with respect to the magnificence of the masterful silhouette.

  
"Seven Chambers is leaving the city." - said Newt. Tina nodded at the explanation, watching the shadowy silhouette disappear. "And you don't have to be alone, Tina."

  
    Newt struggled not to look away as Tina's face turned toward him, aware that he had an unintended flush on his cheeks. That was not the time to blush. Her eyes moved dull but interested from the man's eyes to his chin, and she seemed to care little for the dark strands of hair that caressed her lips in the sway of the breeze. Newt's fingers twitched with the urge to rest them behind her ears but, taken by fear, they didn't.

  
"What I mean is that you can certainly count on Theseus and his team in your investigations, if it's your wish, of course. I can swear to you that my brother was loyal to Seraphina Picquery and will be loyal to you all the time." - he clarified. "You chose to fight for what you think is right, Tina, just as he did."

  
"Do you think he would accept me on his team?"

  
"I think you're the one who should form a team." - Newt laughed lightly. "And if you do, I hope you'll include me in it."

  
"And why would I put you at risk?" - Tina was surprised by his offer.

  
"Because I know that, even as capable as all of you are, you will need as much help as you can right now. And I think I can be helpful with swallowing some strange medicine or something at some time."

  
    Tina laughed, softly, for the first time in recent days. Brown eyes fixed on blue-and-green ones made containing the flush in Newt's face an almost impossible task.

  
"Thanks, Newt. I think my debts with you never end."

  
"You can pay them off having a drink with me." - he raised the mug to his lips to hide a small smile. "Or cocoa, if you prefer."

 

 

 

     _Stack._

  
    The sound crackled harshly and reached the ears of the man resting in the armchair, deep in silent thoughts, as he watched the silver tone of the clouds in the moonlight. He closed his eyes briefly, scraping his index finger over the space between his eyebrows. He had a lot to think about.

  
     _Stack. Clog. Clog. Clog. Clog._

  
    Behind him, the sound of the heels repeated itself, successively, louder with each new step. Then, over his bare chest, long, nimble fingers ran along bold paths all the length of skin they found. The hand was warm, as usual, and he sighed audibly, relaxing his head against the soft upholstery. A malicious laugh reached his ears to bring a discreet, contented smile to his lips.

  
     _Stack._

  
"Stop thinking." - a teasing whisper was released against his earlobe before teeth gripped it gently. "Come to play with me."

  
    He laughed a malicious laugh before moving around the small couch to take the giggling figure by the wrists. He didn't care about manners as he tossed it gently on the double bed sheets. That sensation, _adrenaline racing through his veins like fire_ , overwhelmed his senses. There was nothing in the world that resembled the feeling of having a warm body beneath his own. _Power versus obedience_ , as he thought it should be.

  
    He smiled when he felt numb. Under a fascinated machiavellian look, he smoked a cigarette in silence for long minutes. He had a lot to think about.

  
"You've been thinking too much..." - the high voice took the man out of his thoughts. "I know what that means."

  
"It means we all have problems."

  
"It means you keep repeating on the same mistakes." - the voice countered.

  
"I don't want to talk about it now."

  
"You think you play a fool on me, don't you?" - a dangerous laugh sent unpleasant chills down the man's neck. "Oh, if only you knew the things I know..."

  
    Barefoot led the figure to the tray on the table of that hotel room. Skillful hands filled a small glass with cheap drink, and the mouth tested the bronze-colored liquid with enthusiasm. There was a dangerous spark between those machiavellian eyes and the singing smile installed on wet alcoholic lips.

  
"What do you mean?"

  
"I'm saying everything you still have is right here in front of you." - the bronze liquid swirled slowly between the rounded edges of the glass. "What's out there has already been taken from you."

  
    The man knew that wordplay, had been terrified of it more than he could count. He watched the silhouette partially illuminated by the neon light of an entrance sign. Those words couldn't be true, could they?

  
"I know all your tricks..." - he threatened, apprehensive.

  
"And other people's tricks, do you know?" - it shrugged. "The fatal blow always comes from those you least expect."

  
    It set down the whiskey glass to take the forgotten whip on the carpet at the foot of the cream armchair.

  
     _Stack._

  
    Light against the palm, it did nothing.

  
     _Stack._

  
    A little stronger, it caused a tingling to the skin.

  
"What you mean?" - the man asked again. His voice faltered.

  
     _Stack._

  
    A little stronger, it left a sudden and ephemeral burning on the skin. A little more intensity should suffice.

  
"Let's play a game." - there was, however, no amusement in that voice. "You answer a question and I tell you everything I know."

  
    Leaning on his elbows, stretched out over the misfit of the double bed sheets, the man watched, motionless and vulnerable, the slow, sneaky approach of the silhouette. Foot to foot. He was too curious to move.

  
    The figure rested one knee on the mattress, analyzing the male nakedness, imagining the best places to draw on that skin tone. Abdomen? No, too hidden. Chest? No, too classic.

 

"Who do you belong to?" - the voice demanded teasingly.

  
    The man's eyes bounced up and down, following the movement of the whip in those hands. He swallowed hard. Everything was easier when he had control of the situation.

  
"Who do you belong to?" - demanded again, with a little more intensity.

  
    The second knee accompanied the first on the mattress. The leather of the object glowed dangerously in a mix of pink, blue, and yellow from the hotel lobby sign. The man raised his eyes to the face just above his own, the orbits that stared at him seemed to flicker in anger. He was afraid.

  
    He had no opportunity to prepare himself for what came next. In a second, machiavellian eyes were narrowed in anger and the whip shot forward over his cheek. Leather against skin. _Stack._ He roared.

  
"Who do you belong to?"

  
"To _you._ "

  
    A triumphant smile brought an almost angelic countenance to the youthful, hallucinating face.

  
"Mine."

  
    The end of the whip lifted the man's chin so that he could face the other as the words were uttered:

  
" _Mine_."

  
     _Stack_. In the same place. Leather over skin a second time. The man covered his face with both hands, but the contact only intensified the burning sensation. He felt tears forming in his narrowed eyes.

  
     _Stack_ , when he thought it safe to use shaking hands to hold his torso up. He rolled over the mattress, his face pressed against the sheets. He was immensely panting. He heard the whip being abandoned somewhere on the carpet, then felt nimble fingers run the length of his cervical spine. A light breath reached his earlobe. Blood painted the sheets red.

  
"As I keep my promises, I'll now tell you a story."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh oh...
> 
> Any bets?


	12. For the better or for the worst.

The little feet ran lightly down the concrete streets of the city in an unprecedented agitation. They turned right on the school street, headed straight for the main intersection, rounded the Market Cross on the left, where the ministerial car rested. In the back, the backpack was frantically bouncing and, occasionally, slung to the side where the strap slid over the shoulder. In the hands, a bouquet of red roses swayed to the rhythm of the footsteps.

  
    He had to find the woman from London, the one with the short dark hair who drove the fancy new shiny-car. _Miss Goldstein_ , he repeated in his mind, _like gold and tin_. He couldn't forget.

  
    He leapt into Castle Combe police station and stopped for a few seconds, filling himself with important considerations. It was the first time he was there. He was fascinated by the sleek, yet creaking and worn wooden staircase that would take him upstairs. He wondered how many criminals would have taken the path he was now taking and swallowed hard. What if any of them were lurking in a silent escape and crossing with him?

  
    With that thought in mind, the boy climbed the last few steps to provide the lobby door with some quick knock.

  
    The shadow cast on the frosted glass of the door announced the appearance of a rather tall woman. Her hair was tied to a ponytail and he could not be sure at once if that was the one he sought. She smiled just as her eyes came to the boy fondly, as if she had known him for a long time.

  
"Are you Miss Goldstein?"

  
"Yes, I am." - Tina knelt, leveling their heights. She was beautiful, he thought, and nice. A man of the station staff appeared curiously behind her back. "And you must be Philipe."

  
"Do you know my name?" - he raised his eyebrows, momentarily afraid that he would be investigated or blamed for a crime he had not committed.

  
"Of course." - the woman laughed at the lovely expression on the boy's face. "Newt talks a lot about you."

  
    The mention of the man's name immediately illuminated Philipe's face. His lips parted in a perfect circle, before smiling cheerfully. Tina felt her chest heat up as she watched him closely. Newt and Philipe looked like a perfect pair, with a unique bond that she was grateful to know.

  
"Are you a friend of Newt too?" - Philip wanted to know, excited.

  
"Not as much as you."

  
    Even more pompous than before, remembering the forgotten bouquet in hand and the task he had been asked to do, Philipe straightened his back and cleared his throat gallantly. He held out the red roses to Tina's hands as the most romantic of poets, and she, as confused as she was surprised, hesitated to take them for herself.

  
"I was asked to give this to you, Miss Goldstein."

  
"Are they for me?"

  
    Tina watched the bouquet more closely. It was made up of five or six roses as reddish as blood among leaves in a very dark green. It was a really beautiful and well prepared arrangement. Tina wouldn't have to ask to know where it had been made. The Tolliver's flower shop was the only one in the town of Castle Combe.

  
    Next to the stem of one of the roses, partially hidden behind the full petals of another, rested an ornate card with inscriptions on a beautiful cursive. It said:

 

 

    _Because kindness is all you deserve. Have a dinner with your admirer?_

 

 

    Tina's stomach twisted involuntarily, bringing with it an uncomfortable as well as intriguing sensation that she didn't bother to interpret. Hypotheses were formed in her mind as she questioned the story behind that gift. Not holding back on her curiosity, fearing the answer as much as yearning for it, Tina looked Philipe in the eye once more.

  
"Who asked you to give me this, Philipe?"

  
"Your boyfriend, Miss Goldstein."

  
     _Ah_. A whimper escaped the woman's lips before it was politely contained. Tina was surprised by the intensity of the feeling of disappointment that removed the smile from her face.

  
    Achilles, of course, she thought disgustedly. She couldn't help but be intrigued by the reasons for such disappointment. It wasn't as if the young american woman had amassed an extensive list of admirers over the years.

  
    Nor was it as if such an investigator's attitude could not have been predicted. Dinner and red roses in a flower shop arrangement were an Achilles Tolliver-style apology for sorting things out. _Classic_. She should know.

  
"And do you know where he is?" - Tina gave a genuine little smile as she turned back to the little boy. He was not guilty, after all.

  
    He had large dark eyes, surrounded by long, flashing lashes, and hair as blond as gold strands that reached the forehead and the neck in discrete curls. He was small and skinny, as if he had not yet gotten a chance to grow, and he emanated from his smart, loving features a grand innocence. He was lovely.

  
    Philipe, after pondering for a moment, silently shook his head in answer to Tina's question. He watched the curious approach of two more men behind Miss Goldstein's shoulders. One was Theseus, Philipe knew. Newt's older brother, someone who, however, he had never had contact. His tall, broad-shouldered figure and his deputy frightened him a little if Philipe needed to be honest.

  
    Embarrassed by all those glances on him and still considering the existence of criminals in a potential escape in that environment, the little boy made a slight turn on his heels, leaving one last cordial smile for Miss Goldstein, before disappearing in a blink through the police district stairs.

  
    Tina followed with her eyes the hopping of the backpack over Philipe's shoulders as she walked away and released a heavy sigh, thrown back into the harsh, pitiless reality.

  
    That would be the time, Tina thought. She could not let another day come to an end without completely untying that strong, uncomfortable knot in her hands. She could not lie back in her bed and just imagine, with her eyes closed, the sensation of freeing herself from a large part of her frustrations as her mind begged to experience it.

  
    She stared at the beautiful bouquet once again, wishing she could see nothing but mere red roses.

 

 

 

 

The sun was setting in the west on an orange sea as the children who ran down the street gave full laughter. The agitation marked the exact transition from the end of a busy day for the workers to the beginning of a profitable night for the bohemians. Tina watched everything and everyone without much interest, as if about to get out of that scenario.

  
    Sitting on the last of the three steps of the police district's facade, propped against the wall that marked the plaster arch of the entrance, the woman tried to balance a soda bottle over her knee. There was little more than a thumb of contents left in the glass, and it had been so hot that it was unable to produce any new gas bubbles. The bouquet of flowers rested on her lap, and although she kept her eyes focused on other things, it was all that dominated her mind. Almost all.

  
    Lights were on and off in Achilles Tolliver's house. The frequency with which this cycle was repeated made Tina think that the criminal investigator was preparing to leave the city on his return to London. The bathroom light had been in operation long enough, and the woman was lucky to be able to witness the moment when the small square on the side wall fell back into darkness like the others. It should not be long until Achilles left the residence.

  
    Tina sighed. She was anxious and impatient. She had created and repeated a little speech in her mind that afternoon. She hoped she wasn't forgetting anything, and hoped she wouldn't forget anything from now on. Her agitated heels made the glass bottle swing dangerously over her knee. Why was he taking so long inside the house?

  
    The woman rose to her feet in an instant as Achilles's large, full-bodied silhouette darted to the ground between the bright rays of light of his living room, in the well-defined rectangle of the front door. He wore an expensive leather jacket and smoothed his wet tuft with his fingers as he crossed the street toward a vehicle parked on the opposite bank. He seemed rushed and determined. Tina approached as soon as possible.

  
    For a few seconds that her presence went unnoticed, she stared at the image of the linen-embroidered tiger on the back of Achilles's garment, momentarily paralyzed. The courage she had kept alive in her chest all afternoon seemed to escape her parted lips. She didn't have much time to prepare, however, as she could see him analyzing her for her reflection in the car window.

  
"Your family does a beautiful job. They are really beautiful red roses." - Tina preferred to keep her eyes lowered to the petals between her fingers than to meet Achilles's unreadable eyes. "It is a pity that this whole situation does not allow me to appreciate them as I should."

  
    Achilles finally deposited his luggage on the ground, without really hurrying to do so. He seemed to postpone the moment to confront her and Tina wondered mentally if he knew what she would like to say. If he would agree with what she would like to say.

  
    Eventually, the tiger disappeared from the woman's peripheral field of vision and she was forced to look up into the face that now stared at her. _That would be the last time_ , her conscience told her, _and then there would be no more anguish, sadness or arguments_. She would be _free_.

  
    With a little more courage and motivation, Tina's eyes finally lifted to Achilles's contorted face. And then, unexpectedly, an exclamation of horror broke through the woman's parted lips.

  
    On the left side, right between the man's chin and eye line, a huge scar cut his cheek deeply, in a single, continuous, oblique streak to reveal a new, still bloody reddish wound. It was as if a piece of glass had torn Achilles' pallor, and it was as if the pain of the wound faded along with the stagnant blood. The raw flesh distorted the man's features, causing him to adopt an expression of suffering at all times. However, when Tina gave them attention, there was something primal installed in his eyes, something severe and unknown. Tina lost track of the words formed in her mind for a moment.

  
"What happened to you?" - she asked eventually. She tried to reach him but Achilles moved away. "Any fight?"

  
"Don't touch me. That's none of your business." - he returned, cold and calculating.

  
    As much as that wound, the tone of voice over Achilles' harsh words surprised Tina. Even with all the awkwardness and accumulated argument between the couple, she could not remember the reasons for him to adopt such irritation. Unarmed and at that moment impatient, Tina promised herself that she would not correspond to Achilles' rude behavior. She wouldn't lose her mind.

  
"Fine. It's none of my business." - Tina stared at Achilles's luggage on the floor. "I know you probably have more important things to do, so I'll get straight to the point."

  
"That would be good. I'm leaving, if you didn't notice."

  
    Achilles followed the path of Tina's eyes. He reached for the suitcase on the floor and placed it on the back seat of the silver sedan. It was also a ministerial vehicle, like Tina's. A new one, maybe. The leather lining of the seats still smelled like a doll.

  
"I think you'll need to pay attention to me, Achilles." - Tina couldn't keep the growing irritation from showing in her voice. She wasn't there to deal with a child. And she had hard evidence that dealing with a child was an easier and more enjoyable activity than having to talk to a sulky adult.

  
    Achilles sighed deeply, looking uncomfortable with the woman's presence. With a minimalist expression, he turned to her.

  
"What you want?"

  
"I want to end our relationship."

  
    And there he was, with a surprised expression, as if he had not expected it. Tina hated him for it. He could make that an easier situation.

  
"To be honest, I think it ended some time ago. The correct thing would be to say that I'm here to give it a proper end." - Tina corrected. "We can't go on with it. We don't communicate, we don't understand each other, we have no more complicity, we no longer even want to be with each other."

  
"We no longer _want_ to be with each other?" Achilles frowned.

  
"No, we don't. _I don't._ " she emphasized. "If all we do is fight all the time, then what's the point of staying together?"

  
"When something went wrong in our relationship, we used to find ways to fix it. That's what we always did."

  
"Fix it with dinners, chocolates and flowers?" - Tina waved the hand that held the bouquet. Achilles seemed to finally realize the presence of the bouquet. "It worked when our disagreements were trivial. They aren't anymore. They're about viewpoints, about values, about _loyalty_. You can't fix any of these things with flowers."

  
    Such was Achilles's interest in the flowers at Tina's hands that she handed them to him. He, however, hesitated to take them to himself, as if they could hide a venomous and dangerous animal, ready to lunge it.

  
"What is this?"

  
"I can't keep them." - Tina shook her head in denial. "I don't _want_ to keep them."

  
    The man finally took the gift in hand. In a moment, understanding seemed to spread across his features. His fingers found the card without too much difficulty among the red flowers to read carefully, and then a smile appeared on his lips.

  
     _The fatal blow._

  
" _Admirer_. How romantic." - he laughed. When his eyes lifted to Tina's face, however, she found no amusement in them. "I didn't send this to you, Tina."

  
"But Philipe gave it to me today earlier. He said it was yours."

  
"Philipe? Scamander's little doormat?"

  
"I won't accept that you talk about a child like that just because you're frustrated." - something about Tina exploded at the insolent definition of the little boy. "I think we should end up here. We have nothing more to talk about. I hope you have a good trip back to London."

  
"Now that you've got rid of me, you must be eager to run into your admirer's arms, aren't you?"

  
"I'm not here to play, Achilles."

  
"And who's playing around here?" - he raised an eyebrow defiantly. "Come on, Tina. You already got what you wanted. Now, if you don't mind, I want to hear the secrets you have to tell me."

  
"What secrets?"

  
"You can start by saying where you spent last night."

  
"In my house. Where else would I go?"

  
"Liar." - Achilles scolded. "You weren't in your house. I went there to apologize for the things I said to you, but I bumped into the door. One more chance. Where did you spend last night?"

  
"I told you. I spent the night at my place. And I may have gone out to get a little distracted, but it's definitely _none of your business_." - an indescribable sense of satisfaction reverberated through Tina's chest as she used the same phrase of Achilles as a bargaining chip. It intensified as the man's face became even more scowling.

  
"No more kidding. I know about your encounters with Scamander."

  
    The unexpected mention of Newt's surname had had the power to cause Tina's heart an involuntary bump. Recovering her momentarily stolen focus, she realized she didn't like the angry tone Achilles had used to hiss the young zoologist's name.

  
"I've been working with him, if that's what you want to know."

  
"Working with a horse groom? "- he joked." What kind of work have you been doing at his house? "

  
"He was a key piece of my research, but it's not the best time and the best place to talk about it, Achilles."

  
    For a thousandth of a second, Achilles's expression was blank, opaque, and distant, as if his mind was secretly transporting him somewhere else. Soon it turned into something more frightening.

  
"I didn't expect that from you, Tina." - he seemed to be genuine. "I definitely didn't expect that from you."

  
"I don't know why we're shifting the focus of this conversation to unimportant things, but if you don't mind, I'd like to go home. I have work to do."

  
"Unimportant things?" - he repeated incredulously. "Is your love affair with Scamander unimportant?"

    Once again, an even stronger jolt hit Tina's chest. A _love affair?_

  
"He was better for you than me, is that it? Is that why you're changing me for him?" - Achilles fired the questions like gunshots. "With him it's okay to send flowers and offer dinner, isn't it? It's okay to spend whole nights at a bar table, isn't it? That's why it's all over between us?"

  
"Are you crazy? Newt and I never-"

  
"Don't say his name!" - he exploded, causing the woman to startle in a protective instinct. The nickname of the younger son of the Scamanders echoed by Tina's voice was to him the worst of tortures.

  
    Losing at once all the remaining calm in his veins, Achilles clenched his hands into fists to contain the anger that had been spreading through his fingers since the night before. In a moment of insanity, the man's hands made the bouquet a deconstructed blur. The floor was filled with loose petals and crumpled leaves. He was panting. There was no going back. The reins had been lost.

  
"See this shit on my face?" - Achilles's tone had reached three quarters higher. His index finger trembled in an attempt to focus on the grotesque bruise on his cheek. "I was humiliated enough when I learned about your sneaky encounters with another, smartass."

  
    Achilles's dark eyes showed full and pure malice. He was dying and killing for revenge. He was willing to do the impossible to see the image of Tina Goldstein under his feet. His tongue yearned to hurt beyond the flesh.

  
"It's time for you to learn about _mine_."

  
    Curious passersby from the main street made an increasingly agitated buzz, pointing careless fingers in the direction of the discussion. Workers interrupted the creaking lowering of their shop doors, children stopped the whirling movement of dancing kites in the sky, and women rested baskets of dried fruit on the floor to follow the unfurled scene. Among them, however, was a small and agile figure running in the opposite direction.

  
    Under the frightened frown, Philipe's eyes drove him desperately to the house of number seven.

 

 

 

 

"Newt! Newt!" he shouted, uttering strong bumps to the wooden surface. "Newt!"

  
    With his countenance never before so concerned, the young zoologist hurried to find the little boy at his door, wide-eyed and his breath caught. Newt felt his knees fail at that moment. He bent down to meet his eyes, laying his firm hands on the boy's narrow shoulders as if to make sure that Philip was really ahead of him, safe and sound.

  
"Philipe! What happened?"

  
"It's your friend! Miss Goldstein!"

  
" _Tina?_ " - and then Newt's heart missed another beat.

  
    In fractions of a second, his mind filled with hypotheses that stung his stomach. He immediately thought of the dark-haired woman and his heart gave a painful jolt. Newt was afraid of what would come next, didn't know if he was ready to find it out. With the instant tightness in his throat, the man's voice cracked.

  
"Is she _safe_?"

  
"The woman asked me to bring flowers to Miss Tina, before school, said it was a gift from her boyfriend." - Philipe raised his wrists to his eyes to rub them. "But something's wrong, Newt! He's mad, he's screaming and fighting with her in front of everyone! He destroyed the bouquet with both hands!"

  
    Newt's mind worked quickly to unite the fragments of Philipe's hasty speech. There was something really wrong, Newt was sure.

  
"Who gave you the flowers, Philipe?"

  
"I don't know her name. She met me at the school gate."

  
"Do you remember what she looked like?"

  
"She has quite long dark hair at the waist. She was quite tall, too, and was wearing high heels. I had to bend my neck to talk to her."

  
"Oh, _fuck_." - Newt cursed under his breath.

  
    No need to say anything more. Gritting his teeth, he took Philipe by the hand and sped off.

 

 

 

 

"Yours _what?_ " - Tina gave the word intensity.

  
"You never wondered how I discovered all Percival Graves' most wicked and hidden secrets, did you?"

  
    Tina plunged into a whirlwind of disconnected thoughts. The dialogue with Achilles seemed to swirl in her mind like giant cups of amusement parks. The ruined bouquet stirred at the investigator's hands reminded her that she did not understand why he had not been given to her by Achilles, as Philipe had said.

  
    Had the little boy lied? Had Philipe been instructed to lie? And why, she wondered then, was Achilles providing explanations about his investigative methodology?

  
    The spinning giant cup seemed to reach its maximum speed in her mind. She was unable to trigger her speech mechanism.

  
"I needed to get them from a safe source, from someone who knew the worst version of that man and yet had more interest in helping me than being loyal to him. Lucky for me that one of his lovers had been my old girlfriend, before you. "

  
    A quick, strangely affectionate smile lifted the edges of Achilles's lips. The expression on that face, coupled with the precision of the course of the conversation, made Tina feel momentarily paralyzed, as if hundreds of strings wrapped around her limbs in an immobilizing grip. A hypothesis lit in her mind. _No, it couldn't be..._

  
"It was purely professional at first: we met just to pass on information, two or three times over the weeks. Everything became a big problem when her proximity was as constant as your absence, as our distance. She's an ambitious woman, you see, and still completely in love with me." - he moistened his lips. "An easily manipulated woman asking a _peculiar_ price for her favors."

  
    Tina's stomach twisted unpleasantly. The floor seemed to open under her feet.

  
"You can't blame my subconscious, Tina. Staying away from you meant getting closer to my past, getting closer to old memories, getting closer to _our end_. Regrets for being with her made no sense." - he said the words in unearthly calm. "Behold, you have come to Castle Combe, like a _nightmare_ , _farther_ , more _stubborn_ , _disobedient_ and _overbearing_ than ever, bringing back just everything I wasn't used to having anymore. You have no idea how tired I am of these things, Tina."

  
    Tina opened and closed her mouth repeatedly hundreds of times. She wanted to vocalize her defenses, wanted to shout her revolts, revulsions and outrages. She wanted to tell anyone who wanted to hear all the worst adjectives surrounding the figure of Achilles Tolliver in her thoughts. However, the air circulating in her lungs didn't even seem to be enough to keep her upright. To her, speaking seemed like an activity of rigorous effort when the tightness in her throat was present.

  
"But I stayed by your side. I had compassion for you, which even your _family_ didn't dare to do." - Achilles almost smiled at Tina's aching countenance. He knew he was achieving the effect he wanted. "That's what I get in return: the conviction that you're a _selfish hypocrite_."

  
    That was too much. He was willing to hurt her.

  
    But he had no right, Tina thought. He had no right to say any of those things. He had no right to confess the worst of attitudes and still try to hurt her with her traumas. That was the lowest level to be achieved by one's character, the worst of injustices. And Tina hated injustice.

  
    Achilles's voice still echoed in her ears, insulting her in the most vicious ways as the bonds that held Tina in place snapped.

  
" _Enough!_ " - Tina shouted. She screamed as her exclamation slipped through hir lips like a bomb. "Do you realize what you're doing? Do you realize you're always blaming me for the things _you_ do?"

  
    When observed, at that moment, Achilles was stunned by Tina's words, as if he expected her not to retaliate with his thrusts.

  
"It was not me who refused calls, who didn't even mention the relationship we had for the family, who did not have humanity to think about the other's feelings before disappearing without a trace to revive a childhood love. It's not my fault if _you_ destroyed everything we had." - Tina roared her words as if her life depended on that act. "But I was loyal to you, Achilles, even when I had many reasons not to be, and I don't need to prove it to you or anyone because I don't give a _damn_ what you think. My _character_ is something that never failed me and it's a relief to know that we are different."

  
    Eternal moments of silence remained between them. Sparks of strangeness and rivalry shot between their sustained gaze. The man laughed incredulously as he processed Tina's statements. He had too much knowledge of his own character to know how far his mind would lead him to make mistakes, to know the things that would seduce him until he was teetering on the tightrope of loyalty. He had too much knowledge about himself to know that he was corrupted.

  
    But Tina, _Tina_ , she couldn't do wrong. She, who would spend whole hours in faithfulness speeches, who would rather keep alive the wishes of a dead woman by loyalty. The knife stabbed by her at his back was more than he could handle, more than he could wait for. It was more than any bruise marked on his skin by the claws of lust.

  
    He, in his crazy and juggler spirit, was unbalanced on the narrow, wavering tightrope of reason and emotion. He found himself approaching the woman in one long stride, then another. The index finger pointed straight at her face, like a weapon. The adrenaline in his veins forced him to be ready to fire straight shots through his mouth once more.

  
"Get away from her."

  
    Newt's voice came over Achilles's shoulders, right, firm. Tina saw the man's eyes narrow, his index finger inches from her face between them. The investigator turned one hundred and eighty degrees on his heels, and the woman could finally see the messy-haired man. His countenance faltered in surprise when he realized what Achilles's face held but did not make him feel less determined. He wasn't about to leave Tina in the man's presence for even a minute longer.

  
"I thought you wouldn't show up." - Achilles mocked. "Did you like what I did to your flowers? I'll do it to your face too."

  
"It would be really great to see you try, but they're not mine. They were sent by someone you know. Meredith. She's the one who owes you explanations, not Tina or me." - Newt explained confidently. "And I said for you to get away from Tina."

  
"It's easy to blame someone who isn't here to defend themselves."

  
"So make sure, yourself. You must have given her reasons for wanting to separate you from Tina."

  
    Newt was a few feet away from Achilles, with Philipe by his side. The latter, in turn, when he judged that the tallest and most frightening man was too distracted to notice him, began to travel the distance between himself and Tina in a matter of seconds, taking the woman's hand in his own as if to protect her. He looked pathologically pale, accompanied by bulging eyes and trembling lips. At the same time, Tina felt like taking the little one in her arms and hitting Achilles's face with a rather painful blow.

  
"You must be loving it all, aren't you?" - Achilles flashed a cheeky smile. "But I advise you to remember the nothing you are, Scamander. Remember that you're little more than a mutt getting leftovers from my dinner _again_."

  
    It was that. He was unwilling to stop. He was unwilling to give the woman a break so that her spirits would again find a patient state of mind. Before she could stop her impulses, Tina's hand wriggled out of Philipe's small, delicate fingers and searched through the cold glass of the bottle she kept forgotten in the opposite hand. Without rethinking her actions, guided only by the feeling of anger sewn into her insides, the woman propelled the rim of the container toward Achilles's face so that the remaining dark liquid of the soda bathed his face. He made a fierce roar as the acid came into contact with the flesh exposed by the scar, burning it into a monstrous blaze.

  
"I told you we had nothing left to talk about." - Tina muttered through clenched teeth. "Get in your car and drive to hell."

  
    The smoldering red eyes appeared between the fingers of the hand that still laid flat against the attacked man's face. Tina had never seen them like that before. The woman didn't back down, however. She had not gone so far to be intimidated by Luciferian glances.

  
"You'll regret it." - he threatened her. Then his eyes narrowed, squinting exclusively on Newt. "Make good use of her while you can, you bastard. I'll destroy your life."

  
    At the sound of exclamations of dread and shock from the inhabitants who unknowingly watched the scene unfold, Achilles hid behind the dark windows of the car and sped away, causing the car to disappear in the distance in a matter of seconds.

  
    Tina remained static for long minutes in an ineffective attempt to digest that whole sequence of catastrophic events. She forgot all the outside world that stared at her, glancing at her in astonished and suspicious eyes from all directions. Eventually, as was expected to happen, the commotion dissipated. The lull between the remaining trio seemed less rewarding than their return to their interrupted activities.

  
    Accompanying the reduction of adrenaline in her body and the recovery of her inspiratory rhythm, Tina felt three soft tugs poke at the hem of her blouse, bringing her back to reality. With somewhat less frightened but still equally astonished eyes, Philipe reached for one of her hands with the one not firmly tied to Newt's. She could then finally see him clearly in all the chaos.

  
    The man had fear and concern in his eyes, as if the briefest meeting of their eyes could bring ruin to the young american woman. They knew that would not be the best place for the conversation they longed to have. They would not give those people reason to speculate about the nature of their approach, or to doubt all the recent defenses they had made for themselves.

  
"Let's go home." - it was Philipe who spoke. The thin little fingers intertwined with Tina's brought a comforting sensation to her.

  
    By being guided by Philipe among the residents of Castle Combe, Tina could not say clearly the place he referred to in that sentence. Nor did the woman focus her attention on the path taken to speculate the meaning of " _home_ ". With each silent step away from the city center, Tina concentrated only on the growing sense of freedom invading her lungs.

  
     _Freedom_.

  
    After all, she was _free_.

  
    Stroking Philipe's little hand, Tina had no doubt as to the conclusion that her chest struggled to scream: she was actually going _home_.

 

 

 

 

Two cups rested simultaneously on the coffee table. They were still empty, and so would remain for a few more minutes. A translucent glass lined with micro droplets of ice water was held out to Tina by a large, callused hand full of solar freckles. Or genetic freckles. She didn't have enough information to reach that conclusion.

  
    Beside her, at the far right end of the couch, a small figure was balancing a plate of homemade cookies in one hand, while settling with his knees bent in a comfortable Indian position. And Newt, standing before her, was still waiting for her to accept the refreshment offered.

  
"Are you feeling better?" - Newt questioned.

  
"Much better now." - she answered. Fresh water ran down her throat like a top-quality liquor. "Thanks."

  
    Newt took up the vacant space on the couch next to Tina's left side. He risked a sneaky glance at her only to realize that she was watching him, too. She was no longer flushed with anger or pale with apprehension. Those were good signs.

  
"He and the woman who works at the bar, Meredith..." - Tina started uncertainly. "They've had a relationship in the past, haven't they?"

  
"They've been together since childhood, Tina." - Newt whispered, afraid he might hurt her feelings even more. "They broke up when Achilles moved to London to study and become an investigator, which is now clear to all of us."

  
"Do you think she hoped they could resume the relationship one day?"

  
"She always told everyone that he had promised to return to Castle Combe, marry her and take her to live a good life in the capital." - Newt looked up at her once more. "I don't think that's what happened, do you?"

  
    Tina gave a brief nod. She seemed momentarily interested in the cupware given to her by Newt, even though her gaze was blank.

  
"Meredith must not have endured the idea that Achilles was with another woman, much less that you were living in Castle Combe, in her city. I think she was willing to reclaim all she had by making you fight, today."

  
    Tina smiled weakly as she played with the handle of her cup. She remembered that Newt was oblivious to important details of that narrative.

  
"He was still with her, Newt." - Tina muttered, contained. "He was with both of us at the same time."

  
    Newt's lips parted in surprise. Then they clenched in restrained indignation. However, as if he could feel Tina's pain pervading those confessions, his frown sketched little more than an apologetic expression.

  
"I think Meredith knew about that, but I don't think he wanted me to know, which makes me think that maybe the loose person in this love triangle was me. He only confessed the betrayals because he thought you and I were together, having secret dates."

  
"I'm so sorry, Tina. It's all my fault." - he confessed, feeling genuinely responsible for that. "There was a misunderstanding at the bar that day after you left. The way Meredith talked about you looking happy with the proposal to come to my house made me think she knew we were working together. I was scared and accidentally confirmed that you were here. I'm to blame for that."

  
"You're not to blame, Newt. Neither of us are. Anyone in this town could have seen that we were together in that bar and yet we would have no satisfaction to provide because we were doing nothing much." - Tina clarified. She hated the idea that Newt felt guilty about any of those things. "Achilles is the only one who should not go unpunished. Our conscience is calm and that is what should matter to both of us."

  
    Vaguely, Tina remembered loose parts of that night shared with Newt at the bar. She thought about how guilty she felt being with him, laughing and talking about any bullshit, while Achilles didn't even imagine any of those things. She remembered the feeling of arriving in her house with high doses of alcohol and guilt in her veins. She remembered that, even with piles of accumulated sorrows and someone so kind and sweet occupying a chair in front of hers, across that bar table, Tina shook away ideas and thoughts formulated by a purely Dionysian mind.

  
    So why, she wondered, couldn't Achilles do the same?

  
"You liked him very much." - Newt vocalized his most obvious conviction.

  
"I really liked Achilles very much in the past." - Tina closed her eyes briefly. "He was very different when we met a few years ago. He was very intelligent, confident and polite. A true gentleman of the twenties."

  
    A long silence settled between the three present. Sometimes it was broken by the gentle nibbling of Philipe's incisors on a cookie in his hands. Behind her closed eyelids, Tina accurately relived her steps a few years before.

  
"Of course, some things have always been present, albeit in the most subtle ways, since the beginning of our relationship. Achilles has always enjoyed having control of situations and people, for example, and I thought these personality traits could benefit him in his career as an investigator. I could only realize that he used them more in his personal than professional life after I moved to Castle Combe."

  
    Tina opened her eyes. Philipe and Newt stared at her with a painful gleam in their eyes. She was embarrassed to be making these statements to herself at such a late moment.

  
"I haven't seen Achilles in a while like I did before, Newt. He hurt me in terrible ways. I couldn't mistreat myself to the point of continuing with someone who didn't want to see me well."

  
"Did he ever use his physical strength against you?" - Newt's fists clenched at the possibility. "Today or sometime?"

  
    Unaware of it, Tina's hands instinctively guided themselves to the painful region of her elbows, where Achilles' fingerprints had gone purple from the day before. She hoped she didn't frown in response to that memory.

  
"He tried." - she made a limited confession. She chose to display a funny smile rather than share moments like that. "But I was the best fighter on my training team. He wouldn't be whole now if he had got it."

  
    Tina laughed softly to break the tension. Philipe's eyes flashed briefly at this new information, as if he saw her as a heroic figure from a comic book, but she didn't notice. After a few moments of wordless speech, the sound of boiling water in the kettle filled everyone's ears. Newt, plunged into private pondering, clenched teeth and a wrinkle of restrained indignation on his forehead, thought it best to get up to fetch it. He disappeared across his kitchen doorway, but his silhouette could still be seen over the counter. He seemed deeply focused on filtering the chamomile infusion.

  
    The plate of cookies appeared in Tina's peripheral vision. Philipe held them out as if silently telling her to take one. When Tina smiled at him, thinking herself unworthy of such affection, the little boy returned the gesture with little more than a grimace.

  
"Actually, it's all my fault, Miss Tina." - his cheeks turned scarlet red. From Tina's point of view, he was the perfect and compact copy of Newt Scamander. "I was the one who handed you the flowers this morning. I caused all that trouble, I'm sorry."

  
"Oh, Philipe... It would never be your fault!" - Tina stroked the little boy's pink cheeks softly. "And to be honest, I'm grateful for all that mess. If it hadn't happened, I would have ended my relationship with Achilles without discovering the injustices he was doing to me."

  
"Aren't you his girlfriend anymore?" - Philipe questioned, momentarily interested in that particular topic.

  
"No, I'm not anymore."

  
"And you're an adult, aren't you?"

  
"I think I am, yes." - Tina was amused by that question.

  
"And you don't have a boyfriend now?"

  
"I don't have it, Philipe."

  
" _Then you can be Newt's girlfriend!_ " - to Tina's desperation, he announced his conclusion in an exceptionally loud voice, clapping his hands with happiness. He did not lower his voice as he continued his exaltation. "Newt's girlfriend threw Coke in Mr. Tolliver's face! I can't wait to tell Grandma everything! She'll love it!"

  
    Shocked and deeply embarrassed, Tina stared straight at where Newt Scamander's figure still stood, praying to all the gods for him to be distracted. He, in turn, waved up and down a sieve filled with leaves and branches. He seemed completely plunged into the steaming kisses on his cheek, oblivious to his visitors' conversation. The woman sighed, partially relieved.

  
"Philipe, things are not that simple."

  
"And why not?"

  
"Why..." - Tina hesitated, finding the search for a didactic and coherent explanation extremely complicated. Why did something so basic seem so hard to explain at that moment? "I can't date Newt just because we're not in other relationships. It's complicated. He has to like me and I have to like him, you know?"

  
"But he likes you and you like him. You even talk like him."

  
"True, but not like this..."

  
"Like this what?"

  
"The way you like a boyfriend. It's different. Newt and I are just friends."

  
"Like Frank and Zouwu?"

  
"Who?"

  
"He's a nice guy too, Miss Goldstein."

  
"This Frank guy?"

  
"No. Newt."

  
"Ah. I know he is."

  
"So why don't you want to have a baby with Newt? I could choose the name."

  
    Tina blinked for a few seconds in complete silence, paralyzed. Then, as the question sank over her stomach like an ice stone, her eyes widened so hard she feared they might slip out of her eyelids. Philip stared at her with expectant eyes that blinked slowly, visibly waiting for an answer to that question. Where in Merlin's name had it come from?

  
    Suddenly unable to control herself, a laugh escaped Tina's lips in her most genuine amusement. She found herself unable to explain the bureaucratic foundations of life to two with someone so grandly innocent and lovely, for whom she was completely charmed.

  
    When the woman smiled sweetly at him, a victorious and cheerful smile reached Philipe's eyes.

  
    Newt returned to the living room with cups in hand, a smile reaching his eyes, but completely oblivious to the reasons for their amusement. Still with a relatively distressed egg-walking look, Tina finally accepted one of the biscuits handed to her by Philipe.

  
"What are you talking about?" - Newt wanted to know, joining the pair back on the couch.

  
"About your cookies." - Tina hastened to say, giving Philipe a look that was as funny as it was pleading.

  
"Cookies." - Philipe agreed, responding to Tina's signal with a discreet wink. "And horses."

 

 

 

 

The remaining bronze-colored liquid danced at the bottom of the bottle in the man's shaking hands. He was sitting at the back of the bar between two trash cans and facing the wall that protected the back of the establishment. He thought a whole bottle of Whiskey seemed insufficient for that moment.

  
    He had lost a woman to _Scamander_. His tongue curled in disgust at the thought of that name. He laughed, alone, wondering when he had become less interesting or desirable than the useless, strange boy who used to be the subject of his bullies in his teens.

  
"What a show!" - he hissed wryly, turning the liquid contents over his lips again.

  
_Clog. Clog. Clog. Clog. Clog._

  
    The dark, long, shiny-haired brunette crouched beside him. The long legs bare by the dress stretched in front of her body and she finally sighed with relief. That day had come to an end as planned.

  
"I told you. Exchanged for the Scamander." - Meredith murmured unpretentiously.

  
"I know that you've put your feet in this story." - Achilles grunted. He squeezed the glass of the bottle between his fingers. "But it won't stay like that anyway."

  
"Oh, it will." - Meredith hissed angrily. "My bags are ready. We'll be leaving tomorrow."

  
"You are not going to London with me." - he said with conviction.

  
"I will. And you will marry me, just the way you promised me." - she countered. "So the three of us will be a happy family."

  
_"Three of us?"_

  
    The speed with which Achilles's eyes turned to Meredith's face made him dizzy at the amount of dancing alcohol in his brain. A cold chill ran down his spine. _Oh, no..._

  
"I'm pregnant."

  
"Make up a better lie, Meredith." - he laughed humorlessly. "You know this is impossible."

  
"It seemed really impossible until I punctured your condoms. All of them." - she smiled, her Machiavellian eyes sparkling dangerously. "Congratulations, _daddy_."

  
"I will not be the father of this child." - he threatened. "You will take it off."

  
"No, I won't."

  
"Then you will raise it yourself." - he got up with difficulty. He had dealt with enough problems for that day. Meredith would no longer be one of them.

  
    In his first wavering step away from that place, however, the woman's warm, thin fingers gripped him by the elbow. Her long nails pierced his flesh with immense force hatred to cause him another searing pain.

  
" _No, I won't._ " - she growled. "You came back to me, after years, with the same teenage promises you left me with. You promised me a good home, a good job, a decent life I never had in exchange for Percival Graves' dirty secrets. I kept to my promise and you will keep yours, because you don't want to know who you're dealing with if you don't."

  
    Meredith abruptly abandoned Achilles's arm and the man stumbled forward, leaning against the brick wall so that he would not hit the ground. The ghost of the woman's fingers still pressed against his flesh, causing him to tingle intensely. When he thought he would be free from the confusions of that day, the woman's lips sought his earlobe one last time. There was no delicacy or lust in them.

  
"I was your first, Achilles, and I will be your last." - Meredith's words sounded like a promise to herself. "For the better or for the worse."

  
    The heels strolled into the establishment again. They still echoed like bombs against Achilles's skull when he realized he was alone, cherished by his frustrations.

  
    He remembered the bottle still in his hand, but the bitter content brought him nothing more promising than continuous nausea. He thought hypothetically of a way to ease his anger. That was the last thought in mind before watching the Whiskey glass smash into a thousand pieces against the solid back wall of the establishment.

 

 

 

 

Pale face. Loose hair brushing her chin. Tired eyes. But she was whole. Alive.

 

    She repeated that mantra at every opportunity. The steam from the shower still left tiny droplets on the surface of her house's bathroom mirror. From her hair streamed whole trails of water toward her bare lap.

  
    Pale lap. Prominent bones. Tired eyes. But she was whole. Alive.

  
    She had returned from Newt's house a few hours ago, accompanied by an ephemeral lightness that lingered until the entrance to her residence. She had remained under the hot flow of the shower longer than one would have thought correct. The weight of silence and loneliness didn't make her feel clean enough.

  
    Stubborn. Disobedient. Hypocrite. Selfish. Dinner.

  
    Eyes narrowed in a strange and anguishing sense of suffocation, Tina dealt with regret. It was inevitable. She finally understood the feelings long shared by Eberdith Graves: she had spent too much time with a man she didn't know.

  
    She wanted to get rid of her memories, to get rid of the touches of Achilles that marked the tone of her skin in purple. She wanted to eliminate from her clothes the subtle features of the usual masculine fragrance. She wanted to separate the feeling of having those fingerprints tangled in her hair. She wanted to erase the criminal investigator's tracks from her story.

  
    She could still hear him embarrassing her in front of everyone. Confusing her, causing her to deliberately hover over the definitions of stubbornness and determination. Playing with Tina's past like a ventriloquist with his puppets. Blaming her for her instinct for freedom. Reducing her to the body. No soul.

  
    It was as if the man were there beside her, shouting names against her earlobe.

  
    Stubborn. Disobedient. Hypocrite. Selfish. Dinner.

  
    Tina took both hands to cover her ears. The towel covering her unfurled and rested on the floor. She haven't seen her sister in years. Picquery was dead. Achilles had stabbed her in the back. That could be her last day.

  
    Still with her eyes closed, she had the urge to scream. She was ready to surrender to her emotions.

 

 

 _Ding_.

 

 

    She opened her eyes. She stared at herself in the mirror and the pale, scared, trembling woman stared back at her. She was alone. Achilles wasn't shouting against her face. She dragged her irises to the corners of her eyes, staring at the forgotten device on the sink countertop. The display still glowed.

  
    A notification of a message was unusual for Tina. As unusual as the name that glowed in dark letters.

 

 

_They are very shy and reserved animals, which don't usually approach humans often, and are even considered despicable by those who don't recognize their value. But they are extremely independent, shrewd and passionate when closely observed. I've become very interested in them recently. This one appeared in the shed tonight. I think I was very lucky. You would have loved to meet her._

_Newt._

 

 

    Below the message was an attached image. In it, a small light-skinned reptile with some dark spots along its body, turned its large dark eyes to the camera. A salamander, Tina was sure, who seemed to smile, curious, snuggled between Newt's fingers.

  
    Not really realizing that she was doing it, with her chest momentarily lighter, Tina smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody has a secret. It's time to unreveal them.
> 
> Hope you liked it!


	13. Running red.

The heavy backpack slipped over the man's shoulder three times during his usual drive down Main Street. Like all previous and subsequent ones, that Friday was reserved for cleaning up the Graves' mansion stables, and countless instruments rattled against Newt's back. He, disconcerted by the stares of people on his shy figure, kept his eyes fixed on the ground at all times. The weight of the pack seemed to triple with each step.

  
    The man had gone to bed accompanied by a bittersweet feeling the night before, and teetering between worries, riots, and delights, could not tell if he had indeed closed his eyes at any time. He still felt remnants of the bitterly repressed anger that made his fists clench as he remembered Achilles Tolliver's reckless words about Tina Goldstein. Silenced by the woman's initiative the day before, Newt had had no opportunity to cease, on his own, the overflowing insolence to Tolliver's lips. At that moment, hearing the whispered legacy left to him and Tina by the man in question, Newt dealt with the regret of letting he slip between his knuckles.

  
    However, in that morning of light breezes and clear sky, Newt also felt remnants of the delicious flush on his cheeks from the jovial nervousness that came from sending an unpretentious message. He had erased and rewritten those word sequences dozens of times, always stunned by the doubt of whether to send them or not, and drummed his fingers on every piece of furniture in an anxious tune while waiting for a possible answer.

  
    _Nonsense_ \- he considered his unnecessary insecurity, huddled between the sheets of his bed later that evening. Tina's answer still danced in his mind behind his closed eyelids:

 

_"Give her my regards. You two seem to have gotten along well, so I think she'll be back again. I'll love to meet her."_

 

    A smile sprang to Newt's lips at the memory and he looked up at the horizon, momentarily judging all the annoyances around him to be insignificant. He watched, beyond the little houses stretched out in a half-circle snail, the wasteland that was losing sight of the hill west of the city. It was in that direction that Tina's house was located, and with a little less shyness in admitting it to himself, Newt was desperately looking forward to seeing her again.

  
    The path passed through the man like a blur. Soon he was on the narrow dirt road that would culminate in black gates of very fine railings and classical architecture, accompanied by tall, thin trees whose crowns painted the sky a mossy green over his head. Perched on wobbly branches, entire families of birds swayed in their greetings with vigorous chants. In the distance, hidden among the ivy-clad walls and covered with a cold, dense morning mist, were the two floors of the Graves' residence.

  
    There was something different about the typically rural setting that morning, Newt had known immediately. A low chatter, murmured between sighs of pain and mourning, broke the morning silence of those surroundings. It came from a single silhouette, leaning against one of the marginal trunks of the makeshift road, resting on the sandy ground like a terminally ill. The appeals that filled Newt's hearing sounded faint, yielding to the seemingly overwhelming effort of their vocalization. Amid series of rambunctious words interrupted by profanity, Newt had realized that that set of clothes was all familiar to him.

  
"What are you doing here?"

  
    A pair of tired, opaque eyes rose slowly to Newt's face. Its owner sat with his legs outstretched and his head hanging over his shoulders, spilling much of the contents of the bottle into his jeans of the day before. The strong, nauseating smell of alcohol intensified with each of his movements. A wry, delinquent smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

  
"I came to finish what we started yesterday."

  
"This is a private property, you can't be here."

  
"I've been warned of this today, although you're forgetting that I'm an investigator and I can be anywhere I want."

  
"Out."

  
"Do you rule me now, Scamander?"

  
    The man spread his hands over the ground on either side of his body, using supernatural force in an attempt to stand upright. The shoulders shook and the elbows gave way with the effort. Momentarily forgotten, the bottle of vodka slid to the floor, spilling its contents in long swallows over the earth.

  
"If you're having trouble coming out with my order, I can call the police. You're the one who decides. Seeing you behind bars won't be a problem to me, believe it."

  
"You need your little brother to defend you, hm? Haven't learned to defend yourself yet?"

  
    Newt appraised the man's image with contempt and disgust. Part of his unconsciousness wanted him to stay there, being insulted to the point of losing his mind and listening to his most primal instincts. His conscience, however, reminded him that he had been educated for much more than empty debates with drunk opponents. And as he turned his back on the investigator and headed for the Graves property, Newt almost laughed at the realization that he had spent too much time listening to Achilles Tolliver's childish chatter.

  
    Achilles finally brought his knees close to his body. On a slightly more elaborate thrust than before he rose, propped against the tree trunk, so that he was up to his adversary. As if his brain was floating in an alcohol pool, his legs flinched with instant dizziness. His pale skin had turned a strangely bluish tinge as his body grew accustomed to the sudden change of position.

  
"Where is she?" - he wanted to know.

  
"Fortunately, away from you." - Newt muttered over his shoulder.

  
    Achilles allowed a dark laugh to escape his lips, the sound emanating a clear tone of perversion. Newt's hands instinctively clenched into fists as his legs stagnated, refusing to take any further steps away.

  
"You're bragging for so little, Scamander..." - he teased. "You'll soon see that the effort is not worth it."

  
"Get out of here."

  
"But it looks like you _really_ like to keep my leftovers, don't you?"

  
_"Out."_

  
"So pay attention to what I tell you: when you're with that bitch again, remember that I've already enjoyed as much as I could before-"

  
    Achilles's phrase died in an audible click, followed by a muffled howl of pain.

  
    The man felt his jaw shift through the channeling of the force of Newt's fist over his chin and a rustling taste of blood filled his palate. He could only realize that he was back to the ground when his nostrils spread dirt in front of his face. Soon Newt's hand gripped his collar again, making Achilles stare at his clear irises bathed in anger.

  
"Dare talking about her that way again!" - Newt growled, bringing his face close to Achilles's until they were only inches away. _"Do it! C'mon!"_

  
    Wide-eyed, Achilles audibly gasped for air. His lungs burned and his heart was pounding against his ribs, desperate for a breath that was becoming increasingly rarefied by the compression of his shirt collar. When he thought he would pass out staring into Newt Scamander's narrowed eyes, however, the hand that held his windpipe released him in a shove. His back went painfully against the sandy ground.

  
"You're a coward, Tolliver." - Newt used his trembling fingers to straighten his bag over his shoulder, staring at Achilles as if he were something pitiful. "You're lucky to be drunk right now."

  
    Newt resumed his way back to the Graves' estate, listening to Achilles' painful murmurs and enjoying a new, never-before-felt sense of satisfaction. He lost, however, rambunctious curse words that were whispered with his name, and angry glances that might tear his flesh, and even jealous promises made by a contained anger.

 

 

 

 

Going down Main Street toward Castle Combe's bar, Tina thought about how much she hated going there after all the recent events. She felt the palpable distaste for those surroundings, for those corners, for the ground where she had poured out the most important final sentence of her last months. Though tempted to follow the instincts that urged her to return to the rented bed of her residence, where she would remain motionless, her eyes riveted to the ceilin like in paralyzing hypnosis for hours on end, Tina knew no other way to achieve a good drink that could cool her mind.

  
    She had chosen a later time to go downtown, aiming to escape the closing hour of the surrounding establishments and, consequently, the attention of the crowd of passers-by. And she had made a good choice. Children, adults and elderly were already gathered for dinner time.

  
    And then, thanks to the nonexistent movement near the landmark, Tina saw him.

  
    With a small leather briefcase in his hand, in a black shirt that fit him like no other, Newt looked focused and serious as he kept a discreet dialogue with Theseus at the police station. Tina nibbled on her lower lip to suppress another affectionate smile that followed the appearance the man's images in her mind from the day before. She had much to thank for his unusual ability to cure disorders through small kindnesses.

  
    Only the surprised eyes of Theseus turned towards her direction made her realize that she had approached the pair too quickly.

  
"Tina." - Theseus greeted. "I was starting to think that you left Castle Combe without goodbyes."

  
"I'm not leaving." - she tried to smile. "Forgive my absence at the police station, Theseus. I was feeling bad this morning and I thought it would be better if I stayed home."

  
"No problem. I hope you're feeling better." - with the assurance of a small nod from the woman, he turned to his younger brother. "Newt was just asking for you."

  
    Tina risked a quick glance at the man, just in time to see him flash a nervous smile between pink cheeks before lowering his eyes to the leather briefcase in hand. The woman's eyebrows rose in amusement along with the corners of her lips.

  
"I was wondering how you were feeling, Tina."

  
"I don't think things can get any worse than they already are. This is a thought that somehow makes me feel better." - she shrugged casually. The indifferent tone of voice had been so flawless that Tina almost believed her own words.

  
"We are sorry to see you going through all these challenges." - Theseus, who always knew how to say good and delicate things in situations like that, was the one who spoke. "You're a very resilient person, Tina. That's an admirable trait."

  
    Tina lowered her almost extinct smile to her own feet, folding her arms around herself in a protective gesture. She knew that, in fact, she was a person who had learned, in the worst ways, to move on. But even though she avoided demonstrating, Tina couldn't help feeling slightly saddened by receiving such compliments.

  
    Theseus, who, like Tina, also kept to himself the ability of reading and analyzing people and situations, had immediately known how to characterize the young american's runaway eyes.

  
"Today's night duty is mine." - he commented, indicating the illuminated police station entrance behind him. He glanced briefly at the full image of his younger brother, his hair slightly trimmed and his casual attire, and remembered that he still had questions to ask. In another opportunity. "You won't want to accompany me on this adventure."

  
    He patted Newt and Tina on the shoulders and disappeared amid the squeak of complaint from the wooden stairs under his feet.

  
    Newt, still embarrassed enough by his brother's confession of his questions about Miss Goldstein, felt unable to look up and see whatever expression was set on the female features.

  
    Tina, who bit her lower lip to avoid being unmasked in her own disguise, analyzed all the details of the scenery around her before settling her eyes on the man's visibly shy figure. For some reason, the flushed cheeks and clear eyes hidden behind the red-brown bangs made her feel a real urge to smile.

  
"Black suits you well." - she commented and ignored the discreet sting that spread across her face as she saw confused eyes leap to her direction. "I meant that I like your new shirt."

  
"Ah, this shirt is not new." - he assessed the integrity of the fabric, silently fearing the possibility of finding it punctured or rumpled, but showing the woman only a casual interest. "I usually wear it on special occasions, like my brother's wedding or my college graduation, so I don't use it often."

  
"Then there must be some good occasion to use it today, I suppose."

  
"Not really. I just..." - Newt's words suddenly locked in his throat. He realized too late that he had not come up with coherent excuses for the need to present himself elegantly to the police district that evening. "I really don't know why I dressed it today, if you want to know."

  
    The man looked down again, feeling the collar of the shirt tighten around his neck more and more each time his mind reminded him of his inability to flirt with that woman. The awareness that he was actually swallowing words and, with them, any chances of impressing Tina Goldstein was a worse feeling than the fear of finding holes or unevenness in the hem of his shirt.

  
    _Flirt?_

  
    _Chances?_

  
    Was he really thinking about those things?

  
"Well, you might want to take the opportunity and join me in a drink." - Tina ventured. "It will be on me."

  
    Newt couldn't help feeling as happy as saddened by Tina's proposal. The excited countenance disappeared from his face in fractions of a second.

  
"I'd love to, Tina. Really." - he could not hide his disappointment. Tina, even unaware of her expressions, accompanied him in that gesture. "But Philipe's grandmother is sick and I promised to help them every day. To their place is where I'm going now. I hope you don't mind."

  
"Oh no. Of course not." - Tina hurried to say. "I hope she gets well soon."

  
"She's showing signs of improvement, yes. We just need her to keep taking her medications and infusions regularly." - he indicated the briefcase in his hands and searched Tina's eyes with his own. His heart jolted at the sight of them. "Can we leave it for another day? Tomorrow, maybe? If you're free, of course. Or feeling good. Or willing to go, that is."

  
"Tomorrow looks like a good day." - Tina answered with surprising haste. "You can call me or text me so we set the time. Or I can call or text you, too."

  
"I'll call you." - Newt smiled, because he couldn't hide the excitement that invaded him at the opportunity to dial the already decorated number for the first time. "See you later then, Tina."

  
"See you, Newt. Oh, and tell Philipe I send my regards."

  
"Nothing will make him happier than this, believe me."

  
    Leaving Tina with a nod and a cordial smile, Newt started walking down Main Street. Facing the man's back, Tina couldn't help but focus on the way the shirt seemed to be relatively tight, highlighting the slight muscle of the trunk and forearms. That had been a slightly mesmerizing sight for the woman, and she only woke from her trance as Newt disappeared into one of the perpendicular corners.

  
    Back to reality, Tina laughed to herself as she realized that, at that moment, there wasn't even a drop of alcohol in her veins to be blamed on that thought.

 

 

 

 

It was good to watch the neighborhood through the open panes.

  
    In a room partially lit by a single lamp, an elderly couple sat to watch a popular auditorium program. On a veranda filled with flowered vases, a mother was nursing a weeping baby cuddled between cotton blankets near her chest. A lonely man watched a baseball game on the small square television in a dark room. And Tina, kissed by a breeze that ruffled her hair, walked on the sidewalk avoiding stepping on the cracks in the ground, like an old habit of her childhood. The baby's cry brought life to that ever so peaceful and monotonous scenario. Tina wondered what the feeling of being received in a warm environment by a family would feels like.

  
    There was no light in the sky and the night was cloudy and cold, like most nights in Great Britain. Directly ahead, exposed to unattractive analysis, was Tina's dark, quiet house. For the woman, the definition of the residence did not extend much further than a large carriage decorated with her belongings, in which she felt strange, suffocated, and lost. That was not her home, and she knew it could never be.

  
    Amid comforting contentment for the spirit, Tina repeated to herself that from that place she could not escape, because few others she had known could be more welcoming than the small rented room that swallowed and hid her most desperate weeping. Few others silences would be more cozy than the one respected by the sets of yellowing flower curtains. No other warmth would be safer the one emanated by photographs of all different versions of her own self. Musings like those made Tina's feet reach the two entrance steps.

  
    However, on that melancholy, quiet night something was wrong.

  
    Tina knew immediately that the unlocked closure was not a consequence of her distraction. Nor was the crack in the door a failure of her personal protection protocols.

  
    With her fingertips guided by caution and her heart pounding in her ears, Tina pushed open the crack of her ajar door with unrestrained delicacy.

  
    There was not much to see beyond the darkness spreading through every visible corner, nor to hear beyond the low, wailing creak of the hinge. Everything was too quiet, and Tina could have sworn the rushing beats against her ribs were as audible as the majestic roar of the Seven Chambers locomotive.

  
    She groped blindly for the switch and waited. A thin, icy trail of sweat slid down the back of her neck and, as in a macabre game of fate, plunged into Tina's robes as a drop of water fell audibly from the kitchen tap. Unique, lonely, capable of further accelerating the circulating blood through the woman's veins.

  
    Like a lightning bolt striking Earth, it occurred to Tina to call someone for help. 

  
    Her primal instinct gave constant and urgent warning signs: that circumstance was not normal, just as the circumstance of Seraphina Picquery's death was not normal. In response to that memory, images of blood dripping on sheets dominated the woman's vision. She thought again of calling for help.

  
    But her hands were livid, motionless at the switch that her subconscious refused to light. Her skin was bristling, choked with insecurity, and her breath was cut, swallowed down in the surrounding darkness. She considered running outside, but the sensation that a stranger was watching her from all angles, waiting for a chance to make her a target, paralyzed her. And that reflection made the suffocating darkness embrace her like a safe field, like a protective black cloak. Under the veil everything was invisible, and so was Tina.

  
    The shaking hand left the switch. She took another step into the darkness.

  
    There was no noise or anything announcing the presence of an intruder, nothing announcing the unwanted visit of a burglar. Foot to foot, the woman shifted her body weight over her steps. Her approach made no noise and no noise responded to her approach. Beyond the kitchen counter, in the dim light of the sky that pierced the linen curtains, Tina could see the small living room and the hallway that would lead her to the bathroom and the only bedroomof the house. Everything was in perfect, frightening order. Absolute silence.

  
    Tina moved into the living room. A tear of despair slid down her face as her body submerged in that palpable tension. Her cell phone rested in the back pocket of her pants. She still thought about calling someone.

 

 

_Bang_

 

 

    A loud noise echoed from the back of the property. It made Tina's unsteady knees fall to the ground. She sought air quietly in exasperation. Like a silent scream of survival, something reminded her of a mustard-colored sweater, tucked between several other garments, at the back of a drawer in her bedroom.

  
    In her bedroom.

  
    _Damn it._

  
    Tina crawled to hide behind the living room couch. She took the phone in her hands. Fidgety fingers searched the contact list for an eternity. Her vision blurred with growing frustration, the dryness in her throat was starting to bot her in the extreme, the air in her lungs was no longer enough.

 

 

_Bang_

 

 

    The device escaped through the woman's slippery hands. A sob echoed from her lips.

 

    Silence.

 

    Tina relinquished her breath to hear and not to be heard.

 

    No steps. No moves.

 

 

_Bang_

 

 

    Each new repetition was accompanied by a sharp jolt to Tina's chest. She wanted to close her eyes, but she never did. She lowered them to the ground, where the display of the mobile phone glowed, and took it again in trembling hands. Tina couldn't say what encouraged her to get out of her hiding place and proceed down the short corridor.

  
    The bathroom door was closed. The one in the bedroom, in turn, was partially open. The room was dimly bizarre in a strangely blue shade. She didn't need to check to know the source of the incessant banging.

  
    Her bedroom window was wide open, dancing to the cool breeze of the night. Occasionally, it would meet the jamb. The noise seemed softer as the woman took on little and insufficient relief.

  
    She couldn't be relieved by the scene that filled her eyes.

  
    Pieces and more pieces of clothing lay on the floor, strewn across the bed, between the former renter's furniture. Drawers were open and rummaged. Tina's wardrobe doors had not been closed. Nothing remained untouched. She suppressed a scream of horror.

  
    Above her narrow bed, in the wall was painted a huge "X" in a frightening blood red tone. Scarlet drops slid slowly toward the sheets, along with the tears streaming down the woman's cheeks. In the center of the marking, covered with the sparkling scarlet ink, was the document Tina had struggled to conceal since her arrival in that town.

  
    Her identification as a British Ministry criminal investigator.

  
    When realization hit her like a gun, Tina felt every part of her body go cold as stone. 

  
    She was being hunted.

  
    In a sudden urge for survival, suppressing a shrieked cry of horror, the woman risked two quick steps backward, keeping her vision occupied as much as possible around her surroundings. She could be hunted from her bedroom window. She could be hunted from the front door. Her trunk hit a rigid surface.

  
    Before she was aware of her actions, Tina found herself locking herself on the small bathroom, panting and shivering. Sliding down the tile wall toward the ground, tears streamed like whole rivers down her face. In spite of everything, the woman was unable to close her eyes, and was directing them in all directions as if expecting an accurate attack at any moment.

  
    On the floor tile was the forgotten cell phone. Tina clung to it with the certainty that her life depended on that act.

  
"Hey, Tina." - answered the calm voice on the other end of the line. _That voice._ Tina released a fragmented exhalation in relief. "I was really thinking of-"

  
"Newt, Theseus!" - and she wasn't sure the hushed murmur had been understandable. "I need you to call Theseus, please!"

  
"Tina, are you crying? What is going on?"

  
"Someone broke into my house. Someone has been or is still here."

  
 "What?" - the man's voice rose considerably. "And where are you? Don't tell me you-"

  
"Yeah, I'm in my place, but I'm locked in the bathroom. I'm safe. Please, I need you to call Theseus and-"

  
"Tina, stay where you are. We'll be there in a minute."

  
    Newt's voice gave way to the unbroken hiss that marked the end of the call. The woman remained with the device to her ear without the perception that she was doing it. Failing to suppress the sobs from her trembling lips, she hugged her knees in protective instinct.

  
    Seraphina Picquery's autopsy images were clear in front of Tina's eyes. She looked down at her own robes as if expecting bloodstains to appear at any moment. There was running red behind her eyelids, impregnated in her mind in a dismal vision. Realization hit Tina as straight and painful as a gunshot.

  
    Someone had broken into her house.

  
    Someone had marked her identification in red ink.

  
    _Tina was the next target._

  
    With much effort, the woman swallowed one desperate sob after another. She forgot the mobile and it hit the ground. The knuckles of the woman's fingers, usually very pale, became translucent as they clung to the fabric of her clothing. She shrank further against the tiles, becoming a figure as small as a child.

  
    She thought of Queenie and her chest hurt. She thought of her parents and her eyes burned. She thought of everything she had left behind and her eyes closed in an unconscious gesture, as if expecting to be filled with the beautiful scenery of a springtime Central Park, full of vigorous flowers and treetops and cheerful children, when they were open.

  
    But there were no colors on the tiles.

  
    There was no heat on the tiles.

  
    There was no joy in the tiles.

  
    Tina began to recite words of comfort in a whispered prayer.

  
    There were no bloodstains on her robes.

  
    There was no gun aimed at her chest.

  
    She was whole. _Alive._

 

    _But how long would she be?_

 

    The bathroom knob turned slowly and the woman let out a silent exclamation of dread.

  
"Tina? Are you there?" - it was Newt.

  
    The woman was on her feet in an instant. She could only watch the blurred image of her hands in an uncoordinated movement to open the door.

  
"Tina, it's me. Are you-"

  
    Newt's words were swallowed by the woman's firm arms, laced with a desperate grip.

  
    There was the sound of the door slam closing behind the man's back, but little he could see far from countless strands of dark hair against his face. In an unconscious gesture, the man wrapped both hands around the woman's thin waist. The slender body trembled against his, but he couldn't help but sigh with relief.

  
"You're fine. You're safe, Tina. No one will hurt you."

  
    Tina's forehead was cold, buried in Newt's neck, and the material of her sweater was wet, glued against her white skin. Tina's legs wavered weakly, but her fingers showed tremendous strength to keep her clinging to Newt's garment. He didn't care. It was as if he needed to feel her pulsing in his arms so that he was sure the woman was real, that she was all right.

  
    They only lightened the intensity of that hug as the noise through the door became more audible than Tina's sobs. Newt moved a few inches away to look at the woman's bleached face. Terrified eyes lurked behind her dark hair.

  
"Theseus, Ben and Oliver are out there, searching the property for the trespasser." - he worried about the imminent expression of fear still lingering in the woman's eyes. "It's fine now. You're not alone anymore."

  
    Tina nodded quietly, finding her mouth too dry to speak. When guided by Newt out of the bathroom, the low outside temperature seemed to kiss her cheek to restore her senses. Newt's hand was steady on her waist, but the sensation was only a distant tingle on her sleeping skin.

  
    A figure stood in the center of the frame that bounded the gaping door just ahead. His slightly curly brown hair and broad shoulders annonced the presence of Theseus Scamander, who watched the arrangement of the objects thrown to the bedroom floor and quickly traced a notebook in hand.

  
    It didn't take more than a few seconds for him to realize the presence of the waiting pair in the hallway.

  
"Tina, are you feeling better?"

  
"I think I'm a little better, yes."

  
"We didn't find anyone on the property or nearby. Did you ever see the intruder?"

  
"I didn't see anyone, and I don't know if they were still here when I arrived. The front door was open and the bedroom window too, so I believe they may have run away."

  
"Did you miss any belongings?"

  
"I haven't searched for anything yet."

  
"Any idea what the attacker was looking for?"

  
"I can only think they were here looking for me. At least, that's what _that_ indicates."

  
    New short streaks of paint joined the longer in a slow, agonizing slide down the wall. The "X" slowly fragmented into grotesque conformity. At that moment, it looked less scary than before, but it was still bizarre enough to make Tina's neck shiver. Her identification remained attached to the wall, painted in blood paint.

  
"Any hypothesis to what that might mean? "- Theseus questioned.

  
"I don't know, but I know it's not a good thing."

  
"We found no trace of the ink, brush or whatever instrument the invader used, nor did we find any clues that lead us to an immediate suspect during the general survey. Me and my team will begin the detailed survey soon, so I'd like to ask you just a few more questions, Tina." - Theseus closed the notebook in hand with a sigh and looked up at the woman. "Do you suspect anyone? Have you received any threats recently?"

  
"Torquil Travers, he is my prime suspect in the murder of Seraphina Picquery and I know he is now after me, but I also know that he does not commit crimes with his own hands." - Tina fired resolutely, as if she had, in fact, seen the man at her residence that night. "And I received threats from Achilles Tolliver, but he left the town to return to London, last night."

  
"He didn't come back, Tina. I met him this morning at the entrance to the Graves' estate." - Newt informed, his hands fisted at the memory. "He was waiting for me for a fight, totally drunk, and I can say he was not in a position to drive an inch out of this city."

  
    Tina felt her eyebrows rise immediately.

  
    Hadn't Achilles left town?

  
    The man had not been considered in her suspicions, his existence had not even been remembered by her during moments of panic. But she remembered the threats left by the investigator in his farewell, and she silently wondered how far the man could go to make her regret his actions. Suddenly, Tina hoped that her hypothesis to be confirmed by Theseus's team. The idea of dealing with Tolliver's threatening plots sounded better than dealing with any Travers's onslaught.

  
    She also couldn't help but be intrigued by the eventual outcome of Newt's 'fight' or feel guilty and upset that the man remained unfairly involved in the situation.

  
"Travers and Tolliver. Right. We'll keep a close eye on both and suspicious visitors in the town of Castle Combe from now on. I want you to contact me, Benjamin or Oliver in any situation where you feel intimidated, Tina." - Theseus made some last notes in his small notebook. "The house needs to be empty for us to begin our investigations, so I ask you to stay in the living room with Newt or accept that he accompany you to the nearest hospital."

  
    Theseus removed a pair of sky-blue gloves from the back pocket of his pants and, without much effort, covered his long fingers under Tina's vague, distant gaze. 

  
    The woman recognized those instruments as well as the traces of her own hands, she had often wore pairs of gloves to carry out minimalist investigations into fresh and untouched crime scenes and felt infinitely enthusiastic about the act. A faint spark of passion for the investigative universe illuminated the confusion of shadows that filled the american woman's senses, making her want to be part, once again, of solving a mystery.

  
    But as quickly as her eyes followed the passing of such consideration ahead of them, they dropped to the ground, where clothes, photos, and books lay untouched in unprecedented disorder. _Her_ unprecedented disorder. 

  
    She was not an investigator at that moment. The thought made her eyes ache again.

  
    Theseus Scamander had no other than that single pair of gloves, anyway.

  
"Just one glass of water is enough, Theseus."

 

 

 

 

The heel covered by the boot hit the ground at a frantic frequency of audible repetitions.

  
    In palpable anguish, the pair remained immersed in the solid silence of the small kitchen. She, her back and posture erect by the alarming agony, accompanied the hesitant ticking of the wall clock. He, his shoulders sagging from the overwhelming sense of helplessness, was rehearsing subtle movements to reach at the woman's fingers in an attempt to say that all would be fine.

  
    The woman didn't notice anything, however. She was farther and farther away, delving deeper into questions that flashed in her thoughts. A discreet line of reasoning seemed to guide her somewhere. Somewhere important.

  
    _Why was she alive after all?_

  
_Why had someone broken into her house, turned her things around, marked her badge with blood-colored paint, and she was still alive?_

  
_Why had she not met face to face with the invader, with the barrel of a gun, with the projection of a hasty bullet, as Seraphina Picquery had done?_

  
_Why was Tina different?_

  
_Why was she alive?_

  
    It was long after 10 p.m. when Tina's pondering finally began to make sense.

  
"They didn't mean to hurt me, Newt."

  
"What?"

  
"The invader. They weren't planning to kill me tonight."

  
"How do you know that?"

  
"If their real intention was to act against me, they wouldn't have left or run away before they did, would they?"

  
    Newt reflected in silence for a moment.

  
"Sure, that would make sense. But then what would be the reason behind the invasion?"

  
"Leave a threat, Newt. The trespasser is someone who knows I'm an investigator, knows I'm working at Castle Combe and doesn't want me here, which is easy to see. But, for some reason, that someone doesn't want to hurt me."

  
"If the intruder doesn't want you here, it's because they have something to hide." - Newt concluded thoughtfully. "Forgive me for saying this, Tina, but someone has already been injured in Castle Combe, perhaps for a reason similar to yours. Why would you be any different, today?"

  
    Tina considered for a moment. She sighed heavily knowing that that was one of the questions that still remained unanswered in her thinking.

  
"I always had a feeling she was ahead of us all in the investigations, and she was, in fact. Maybe she knew something I don't know yet..."

  
    Suddenly, Tina rose to her feet. 

  
    Wide eyes, parted lips and flat hands on the table surface, she knew what she needed to do.

  
"Her belongings. The journal entries. The list of suspects." - the woman met Newt's confused, surprised eyes and realized he didn't share that realization. "Madam Picquery had a habit of keeping her diary and a list of suspects in a private folder. It was with her, here at Castle Combe. I never got in touch with those materials because she thought that if that happened, there would be bias in the investigation. I completely forgot about that folder in the last few days."

  
"And where is it?"

  
"It was taken back to London by Travers, along with her other belongings." - Tina made a face of annoyance. "Of course that folder must have stayed with him."

"Can you get it back?"

  
"I could only get it back if I went back to the Ministry headquarters and entered the presidential office, where Travers must surely have hidden it, without his knowing. But I cannot risk such a move, not after declaring insubordination to him."

  
"And what are we going to do then?"

  
    Momentarily frustrated, Tina sat back in her chair, facing Newt. She really didn't know what they could do from that point on.

  
    She stared at him, as expecting to find an answer in his eyes.

  
    And what are we going to do, then?

  
    _We._

  
    Nonetheless, a small, discreet smile came to Tina's face. She could not know what to do at that moment, but the feeling of not being alone was too good to bear.

  
    _You are not alone anymore._

  
    _We_.

  
"We need to know what Madam Picquery was thinking before she died, but for now, today's event is proof that our assumptions are on the right track."

 

 

 

 

Theseus's haughty voice filled the room as his tall, imposing figure crossed the kitchen door. Behind the man came Benjamin and Oliver, in that order, carrying cameras, blacklight lanterns, and pipettes with traces so small they could barely be distinguished by the eye.

  
"There was an attempt to omit evidence, Tina." - Theseus announced. "For some reason, the man went out the window and returned to the room shortly after. He disfigured a footprint left near your window."

  
"The man?"

  
    Oliver raised the camera he carried in one hand, along with the lantern firmly held in the other.

  
"Our suspect is a man with a large numbered sneaker, who prefers to shed his weight on his left leg."

  
"And he knows how to leave no prints behind. An experienced little fellow." - Ben added.

  
"I will send the collected samples to Birmingham and we will start discussing the case now, so that we do not lose sight of our suspect if he is someone passing through Castle Combe. We would be honored to have you with us, Tina, as it's not always that my district has the opportunity to incorporate British ministry officials into our investigations." - Theseus smiled at the young woman, giving her shoulders two light pats. "We can meet early tomorrow to exchange information. What do you think?"

  
"Tomorrow? Can't I go with you today?"

  
"The information I have collected from your report is sufficient for now." - Theseus explained. "I think Ben and Oliver will be able to organize the evidence until you are rested so that we can think about the case together. I will indicate a man of my confidence to change the locks of your house, if you will allow me."

  
    A growing sense of unease settled in Tina's chest with the possibility of remaining in that environment for the rest of that night. Her tense, contorted face instinctively turned to the rear of the property, where the corridor would lead her to the explicit inscriptions of an anonymous threat.

  
    Looking into the dark, icy, lifeless rooms of that house brought the uncomfortable chill of loneliness into her gut. It was as if each of them were slowly swallowing up all the light, making her wonder if there was still happiness in the world.

  
"You can spend the night at my house, Tina." - Newt offered, unsure. "There you will be comfortable and safe for as long as you need it."

  
    And, as always, he held out a hand, he held out one last beam of light to her.

  
    The woman wanted to counteract the offer. She wanted to say it would be all right if she locked herself in her own room, with all the visible and invisible mess surrounding her, for the night.

  
    But she knew it wouldn't be.

  
"That's alright for me." - she risked a grateful smile. "I'll just get some of my belongings."

  
     With the young zoologist in her heels, the woman advanced through the darkness again. The path to the room had been more fluid, but there was still hesitation at the doorjamb.

  
    Tina focused her attention on the last of the three wide open doors of her wardrobe and closed her eyes to everything else. On the top shelf rested a small but sufficiently large brown backpack and, in one of the drawers, an apparently untouched mustard yellow sweater. The mere image allowed the woman to release a relieved sigh.

  
    Laying it at the bottom of her pack, as if the garment were not of any importance to her, Tina covered it with various toiletries.

 

 

 

 

 

Newt Scamander's house always offered its visitors a warm and cozy hug, in contrast to the mild temperatures of the typically British climate. Its interior resembled a beach house with patchwork nets, rustic furniture and lavender adornments scattered everywhere, as if part of the coastal cliffs could be seen through the window panes. Tina never failed to look at that peculiar decoration as if it were the first time, and that night she found that the sight of that welcoming scene had shown her vital importance.

  
    Tina sighed with relief as she heard the bunch of keys being tugged at the door, locking her in a safe environment, and felt some of the tension on her shoulders dissipate as she watched Newt overtake her in the short hallway, removing his heavy coat to hang it to the stem.

  
"Did you eat anything today?" - he asked, focused on folding the sleeves of his dark linen shirt at the elbows. "Are you hungry?"

  
"No, I'm fine, Newt. Thank you."

  
"There's food in the fridge, you can serve yourself as much as you want and whenever you want. The house is all yours, Tina."

  
    The warm environment allowed Tina to shrug off her jacket and hang it on the stem next to Newt's coat. The small backpack she had brought had been left on the living room sofa in front of the cozy white brick fireplace. She took a deep breath, once more, and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Some muscle fibers at the base of her neck seemed to refuse to relax after such tension. Tina brought one hand to another painful spot in the crook of her neck.

  
"I'll prepare a bath for you." - Newt muttered. "I'll be back in two minutes, but I'll be at the first door on the right if you need me."

  
    As announced by him, the man disappeared into another room.

  
    Absently, Tina approached the hearth, watching the sequence of pictures lined up in the board over it. A beautiful landscape. Newt and a bird in a beautiful landscape. Newt and a younger Theseus sat side by side, one on each swing, with caps, gloves and scarves. A teenage Theseus, a small Newt on the back of a gray-haired man, next to a short woman of a wide, kind smile and a vibrant hair.

  
    Tina returned that photograph back to its place before the first tear spilled from her teary eyes.

  
    In a gesture of self-consolation, the woman hugged her own elbows. She heard Newt's footsteps and movements around the rooms, noises that reminded her that she wasn't alone.

  
    The man's presence was all comforting.

  
    She found him crouched on the floor of the small rectangular bathroom, next to a simple white porcelain tub. His fingers slid smoothly across the surface of the water as if coordinating an entire orchestra.

  
    He would not have to face the door to know that the woman was present.

  
"The water temperature is perfect." - he muttered at last. He rose from the floor and turned to her. "I'll get you some warm pajamas and towels."

  
    With a polite, shy smile, the man passed Tina, leaning against the doorframe, to disappear down the hall.

  
    Tina's feet guided her on their own to the very white furniture, where solitary bubbles and foam islands swirled like little boats in the water. Her fingers brushed the surface and the disturbance formed discrete waves that crashed at the edges. The liquid was warm, inviting, yearning to cuddle and to be cuddled.

  
    Tina, who didn't remember the last time she'd been in a bathtub in her life, was feeling that way, too.

  
    Little by little, the garments were deposited over the marble sink. First the cotton blouse of turtleneck, last the simple bra. Little by little, Tina's body submerged in the water. Foot. Ankles. Trunk. Until there was no part of the woman that was not hidden within the steaming transparency.

  
    When she rose again, her hair weighed with water on her shoulders. She brought her knees close to her body. They looked like mountains of sand in an ocean.

  
"It's all clean. I got them straight from the-"

  
    Momentarily stagnant, Newt found himself wide-eyed and motionless as he took in the scene before him. In less than a second, his face turned into an intense, explosive reddish color that could dispel all his countless freckles.

  
    With his heart pounding in his ears, the man's pale eyes quickly fixed on the colorful fabrics he had brought with him. Two white cotton fluffy towels, like clouds, and a shredded red-blue-gray pajama that gave it a Christmas look.

  
"I'm sorry, Tina." - that's what he tried to say. His tongue seemed too curled to speak.

  
    Newt's embarrassment was palpable, Tina could tell. But she also noticed that, at that moment, she could not share the same embarrassment. Whether it was because of the comfort emanating from the man's presence or the emotional fatigue that swept her away, making her too worn out to feel anything else, she couldn't say.

  
    Seeking only a little relief from the tension clinking through the bathroom tiles, the woman looked at her own figure. From the expanse of skin not covered by water and foam, there was nothing out of decency that was on display.

  
    Even knowing he couldn't see it, Tina flashed a reassuring smile to Newt.

  
"It's fine, Newt." - and her voice showed her tiredness.

  
    Not risking a glance in any direction other than his own feet, Newt rested the towels and the pajamas on the sink counter next to Tina's folded clothes. He swung around on his heel so that he was back on the door handle, ready to close it.

  
"Stay as long as you need it. I'll be in the kitchen preparing something for you to eat."

  
"You can stay, if you want." - she said before he disappeared again. "I like your company."

  
    For a moment Tina thought the man would escape through the half-open crack of the door and leave her to the disfigured forms of steam emerging from the surface of the water. But when the soft thud was repeated in two or three echoes around the room, Newt remained present, his figure just moving awkwardly to occupy, on the floor, a space between the bathtub and the bidet.

  
    The man's gaze was directed only at his bare feet or at the wall facing him.

  
    Tina rested her chin on her knees.

  
"Have you ever had a feeling that no one around you wants your presence, Newt?" - she asked.

  
    The words fell to the ground, heavy with a deep sadness, like the garments that stripped her completely.

  
"Too many times so I could lose my count." - Newt's response had been issued with something a little louder than a whisper.

  
"I've been living with this feeling for a long time."

  
    Newt fingered the cufflink on his right wrist. He had a restrained expression on his face, as if thinking of something to say. Tina waited patiently for his words, but they never came. It was as if they were slowly being swallowed back into the back of the man's throat.

  
"What happened between you and Achilles today?"

  
"He wanted reparation to everything that happened yesterday. He threatened and insulted me just like a teenager, as expected." - Newt shrugged. "But I punched him in the face."

  
"You did _what?"_

  
"He deserved it, Tina."

  
    Newt's voice died in a barely audible whisper. He lowered his face further, embarrassed, regretting both his lack of control over his actions and his lack of caution in his statements. When he thought his face would burn hot from the intensity of the flush on his cheeks, a low, weak laugh from Tina sounded like music to his ears.

  
"I would give anything to have seen this scene." - Tina confessed, genuine. Her eyes were ethereal and affectionate. "And to punch him too, so I hope you enjoyed your chance well."

  
"I'm not sure I acted as I should." - he confessed, vocalizing constant thoughts he had kept for himself since the beginning of that night. "If Achilles was in fact responsible for the things that happened to you today, then I fear my actions have given him the final incentive to do them."

  
"If Theseus can prove to us that he was the one who came into my house to leave a threat, I will be the calmest person in the world." - Tina caught a cloud of foam on the water with her palm and smiled. "I'm not afraid of him, Newt."

  
    Tina dipped her entire hand in the water and the soap bubbles once lodged between her fingers disappeared. With no other apparent distractions, she couldn't keep her thoughts from returning to old and never-before-so-pitiful memories of the younger, more innocent version of herself, blindly in love with Achilles Tolliver.

  
"How silly." - she muttered to herself, ending such unnecessary memories. "Remembering that I ever considered forming a family with that man makes me wonder what a disaster it would have been."

  
"That's why it didn't happen." - Newt said and Tina nodded in agreement. "Something so precious should not be lived alongside someone like him."

  
"You're right." - Tina mused. "There is a lot of kindness in the world. There must be something better waiting for me somewhere."

  
"I hope so."

  
    Both remained in a few moments of silence, broken eventually by the sound of Tina's hands on the water's surface. She smiled as she stared at the image of her submerged palms. The pallor of her skin reminded her of an inherent doubt.

  
"Has she returned?"

  
"Who?"

  
"The salamander."

  
"Ah. I don't know. I haven't been in the shed since this morning."

  
"She'll be back, you have the talent to make everyone want to come back to you." - she was genuine, and he smiled to himself. "Also, your house is magical, full of unusual basements, I think it helps."

  
    Newt allowed himself a slight laugh at Tina's statement and she mentally thanked him for it. That was a good sound to hear at that moment.

  
"I'll take this as the coolest compliment I've ever received."

  
    Tina finally turned her affectionate eyes on the man beside her, waiting for him to do the same. He didn't, however, as she thought he wouldn't. But for her it was no problem at all.

  
    The woman plunged into silence for a moment, enjoying the warm, soft embrace of the water around her skin. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and realized that her neck hurt like never before. Still with her eyes closed, she inhaled a second time, and that time her nostrils were invaded by Newt's scent. It was something like a mix of lemongrass, cinnamon, sand, and finally something of his own. Tina thought that was a good combination.

  
"You're wrong, Tina."

  
    Newt's voice broke the silence, calm and mild, and made Tina open her eyes.

  
"I know things have been tough these days, that people have done horrible things to the point where you question yourself who you really are." - he tried to look at her, but his orbits refused to leave the tub. "But I don't want to be to you like the others. I _want_ your presence. I _want_ to make sure you're all right. I _care_ for you."

  
    It was inevitable for Newt to search Tina's face at that moment. She was watching him intently, with bright red eyes, and her chest rising and falling as if it were about to explode.

  
     He hoped he hadn't said too much.

  
    In less than a second he was standing on his feet with his fingers resting on the still locked door handle. Tina still kept her eyes locked on Newt's back, getting used to the strange feeling of softness relapsing over her. She had been disarmed by those words.

  
"The water must be getting cold and you certainly need some privacy. I'll be in the kitchen, preparing something for both of us. Do you accept me to put some sedative on your drink? It's natural, from my garden. I'll put just enough for you to sleep tonight."

  
    Newt fired the words without interruption, no breach for any particular manifestation of Tina.

  
    She swallowed a lump in her throat consisting of all the things she wanted to say.

  
    _Why?_

  
    Resigned, she brought her knees close to her chin again, finding herself with no choice but to follow the abrupt change of topic in that conversation.

  
"Alright."

 

 

 

 

 

    The heated liquid leaped from the teapot into each of the two cups as the woman left the bathroom. With the lighter walk and two wet towels in hand, she approached the counter where Newt worked, analyzing the arrangement of the borrowed garment over her body.

  
    The long sleeves of his pajamas hid part of her hands, the bars of their long pants folded discreetly on the floor, Tina's thin waist disappeared into the masculine cut of the shirt. She smiled at the Christmas print. The thick, soft fabric made her feel as warm as comfortable.

  
"I think it suits me well."

  
    Finally oblivious to the woman's proximity, Newt dropped his attention from the cookies he had prepared when the red blur entered his field of vision.

  
    _There they were._

  
    _The pajamas Newt had gotten from Theseus on the last Christmas and had never worn because he found them the most uninteresting pajamas in the world._

  
  Her dark, wet hair rested, unpretentiously graceful, on the red fabric and brought Tina a liveliness through such vibrant tones that he had never seen before. She matched that outfit, matched that house, matched that routine. Newt could easily get used to any of those things.

  
    _And the american woman who, in less than a minute, had made them the most interesting pajamas in the world._

  
    To Tina, it was as if she was wearing the prettiest of the dresses. She couldn't dare saying the reason for _that_ look in his eyes, but she felt her whole body warm with the sensation of being watched that way.

  
"Yes." - limited to doing little more than that, he blinked several times. His eyes had become too bright from the sight of the woman in his robes, but he quickly turned them back to the cups on the counter. "Yes, it does."

  
    Tina walked to the small laundry area attached to the kitchen, followed by Newt's glance. He, in turn, shook his head to rid himself of insistent pondering and concentrated solely on balancing two cups of milk between his fingers and a plateful of cookies on his palms.

  
    The reeling sparks of the lit fireplace, though fragile, diffused a pleasant temperature into the interior of the house. Newt snuggled to the floor, on the carpet and by the fire, and waited for Tina to do the same.

  
    The woman's dark hair turned orange as she crossed her legs beside her own cup, like a child. Newt scolded himself silently for watching her so much, but he knew he couldn't help it. He was afraid the woman's figure might disappear like smoke in front of his eyes at any instant.

  
    They remained immersed in their observations of the wood being consumed by the small flames for a considerable period of time, without actually exchanging a word. The silence was not absolute, much less uncomfortable. To them, the quiet rhythm of their mixed breaths was enough.

  
"One day when I told you I couldn't leave Castle Combe because of my family, you told me that was a good reason to stay." - Newt muttered, staring at the carpet on the floor. "Who did you leave behind, Tina?"

  
"Queenie, my sister. She is the only family I have."

  
    Newt stared at the fire in front of him, letting out a low murmur of understanding. He created a comfortable space for Tina to talk again if she felt the need.

  
"We lost our parents during a smallpox outbreak. Queenie and I were separated from them, weeks before their deaths, by a social worker who didn't consider our proximity safe."

  
"I'm so sorry." - Newt hissed softly. Tina flashed a small but true smile before continuing her narrative.

  
"We were handed over to our aunt, the only person in the family on who we could still count. She took care of three very small children on her own, and for someone whose wages barely supported her own family, Queenie and I were like two burdens much heavier than she could carry." - the woman's index fingers played with the handle of the mug with vague interest. "Being the oldest of the five, I started working very early to help her and, just in the time available, I devoted myself to studying as if my life depended on those books. I think this was fundamental so that I didn't give up on my dreams and could get my place at the military academy."

  
    Newt smiled to himself affectionately. He wanted to tell Tina how proud his chest was of hearing that. He remained in his listening position, however, because he knew she would have more to say.

  
"When I was of age, Queenie and I rented a small Manhattan apartment for a fair price, but the money I received was still not enough to cover all the expenses. Queenie dropped out of school to work as a maid at the Ministry and helping me cover the rent. Of course, it wasn't what I wanted for my sister, Newt, I wanted her to study, to have great ambitions and opportunities. But when I started working in the Investigations Department of the American Ministry and encouraged her to go back to school, she was already determined to marry Jacob and start a family. " - she closed her eyes tightly for a moment. "My attempts to persuade her to postpone marriage only brought disagreement for the both of us."

  
    The flames that consumed twigs by the fireplace were nothing but a blur to the woman's eyes. Swallowing had become a difficult act for her, and, overwhelmed by the words rising in her throat, she decided not to scold them any longer.

  
"When bad things happened and I was transferred to the British Ministry, Queenie did not attend my boarding. I arrived in London with the feeling that I was alone in the world, away from everything I knew, away from everyone I could count on, with no family, with no friends." - a tear welled up from her eyes. "It's the same thing I'm feeling right now."

  
    The sound of the drops hitting the carpet became more obvious and she finally realized she was crying. The feeling of vulnerability that struck her only intensified the tightness in her chest and the steady flow sliding down her face.

  
"Today, when I was in danger, I realized I could die without seeing Queenie again."

  
    Tina didn't like to cry, the act brought her back to the worst memories of her life. However, under that circumstance, after all the events that she had accumulated in her mid-twenties, the fluidity of sobs that escaped her lips between hurried sighs seemed to ease the pressure that choked her in her chest. Tina clung to that realization as if that anguished cry could reduce all her disappointments to dust.

  
    Tina felt one of Newt's arms wrap around her shoulders in silent comfort. The other, only a few moments later, led her to a sympathetic crunch against his warm chest. He remained motionless for as long as it took the woman to express all her sadness, and he knew that he could stand there steady and calm for twice the time, if necessary.

  
    Minutes passed as hours, and eventually Tina's sobs reduced to heavy inspirations for fresh air. Her red face lurked in the linen material of Newt's shirt, and while not pretending to reveal itself, he unconsciously strummed the wet ends of her dark hair.

  
    After the last, most vigorous deep breath of her lungs, Tina rose to accept the man's warm cup of milk.

  
"You will see your sister again, Tina." - he watched her slowly ingest the contents of the dishware. He hoped the healing properties of the infusion to be effective. "Nothing will happen to you. I promise."

  
    And that, to Newt, was a valid promise.

  
    Nothing would happen to Tina.

  
    Nothing could happen to her.

  
    Tina needed to discover all the truths behind Castle Combe's secrets, needed to see her sister again, needed to live. He was willing to do the impossible to keep that promise.

  
     Because the possibility of losing her, from the moment he had found her in that bathroom on that very night, seemed unbearable to consider.

  
    He would not have to dig deep to come to the conclusion that knocked on his door every moment he found himself thinking about that woman: he was enchanted by her.

  
    He had been enchanted from the moment he first saw her as she crossed the Main Street to the police district on any January morning. He had been enchanted from the moment he had first spoken to her, on a very lucky day, at the barstools.

  
     How could he not be?

  
    She stared at Newt over the rim of the cup in hand, her eyes tired and swollen from the effort of crying. She waited for a small, faint smile to draw on her lips before blinking slowly with both eyelids in a silent communication of gratitude.

  
    Newt was too good. He was doing more for her than he could.

  
    Tina consumed the contents of the cup next to Newt, occasionally reaching for a chocolate cookie she loved so much.

  
    They did not exchange many words. The silence seemed extremely welcoming, inviting her into the lull of eminent drowsiness.

  
"I think it's time to go to bed." - Newt muttered as the woman yawned for the third time in a row. The clock at the top of the hearth indicated a few minutes past midnight.

  
    The man got to his feet and held out his hands to help her do the same.

  
    There was something curious about feeling Newt's fingers against Tina's palms, something extraordinarily simple that she, in paresthetic drowsiness, and he, in a jovial and naive embarrassment, could not describe.

  
    There was also something unusual about watching each other's faces in new proximity. Tina, a few inches shorter than Newt, realized that being face to face with him meant leveling their irises to an ideal, discrete slope. It meant being able to look up at the finer details of the man's face, at brush-painted freckles, at a particular constellation that only she could see. It meant being able to find pools and entire lakes and oceans in a welcoming look.

  
    Blue and green against a brownish immensity. All of the water colours.

  
    Tina wanted to kiss Newt.

  
    And Newt wanted to kiss Tina, too.

  
    But should Tina? Wasn't she being fooled into seeing something else, something perhaps nonexistent, within naturally kind and passionate eyes?

  
    And Newt, should Newt? Wouldn't it be unfair to consider such an idea at an inappropriate time?

  
    Simultaneously, as if ashamed of themselves, they both withdrew their hands.

  
    She stared with vague interest at the windows of the living room. He bent down to pick up the forgotten crockery and take it to the kitchen sink.

  
    When he returned, the woman was still staring at the curtains. There was a frustrated expression on her face. Maybe he had a similar expression on his own.

  
"The panes are too small for the passage of an adult, Tina. And they're all locked in." - Newt muttered, certain that all she felt was concern. "You're safe."

  
    He led her down the hall to the back of the house, where four doors faced each other, two on either side. The back door to the left marked the entrance to the young zoologist's work shed. The door just in front of it was ajar, and in the dimness of the room a narrow bed and a lamp holder were visible. Closer to Newt and Tina were the bathroom and, in its front, was a closed door to a room Tina didn't know. It was there that the man led her.

  
    Tina knew immediately that that was Newt's room.

  
    A desk full of scattered papers and books rested under the window of that room, and there were drawings of birds faithfully reproduced in pencil on the top leaves. Occupying a complete wall was a dark wood wardrobe and, facing it, a double bed covered with a patchwork and pattern similar to that of the pajamas that Tina wore. Newt's scent difused through the environment and when it met Tina's senses, gave her instant relaxation.

  
"The window is closed and you can lock the bedroom door to feel safer, if you wish." - Newt informed. "I'll be in the other room, down the hall. You can call me anytime you want, and I'll come to you in a second."

  
    Tina watched as he set down the small backpack she had brought with her on the double bed.

  
    A sudden feeling of anxiety ran down her spine as the man passed her rigid body, propped up against the jamb.

  
"Good night, Tina."

  
    Newt reached the guest room door in a few strides. Tina stood motionless in front of the bedroom door.

  
    He wouldn't be there with her. He would be in another room.

  
    Tina could lock the door anytime she wanted. She could lock him out. She could protect herself and leave him unprotected.

  
   The man gave the woman an uncertain smile as he was about to disappear behind the door. Tina was terribly terrified of loneliness.

  
"Newt!" - she called.

  
    And he reappeared in a second, his countenance as worried as before.

  
"This is your room. There's space for both of us. Please, stay with me."

  
    Tina was paler than usual at the moment. Her dark eyes bounced across her face and showed the dread she chose not to share. Newt was unable to refuse that request.

  
    He knew that he would be unable to refuse it under any circumstances.

  
    Tina was the first to reach the double bed. Newt was busy locking the door so that the woman could finally sigh with relief. She took the mustard yellow sweater and deposited it cautiously in the lamp holder by her side, under his curious gaze.

  
    He, however, made no mention of the woman's behavior.

  
    She lodged at one end of the mattress and waited for Newt to be under the blankets on the opposite side. His scent was omnipresent. It was in Tina's robes, in the blankets over her shoulders, in the pillow that soothed the throbbing pain at the back of her neck, in the mattress that rocked her body. Lemongrass, cinnamon and sand hugged her completely. Lemongrass, cinnamon and sand watched her with earnest eyes as they searched through the dim yellow light of the lamp for hers.

  
"Thanks for everything you did for me today, Newt. And yesterday. And the day before yesterday. And every other day." - she whispered, enjoying an unprecedented sense of comfort. "I really don't think I can make up for all the help."

  
    Taking advantage of how little her conscience allowed her, she reached for his hand resting on the pillow. Strangely accustomed to this gesture, like old acquaintances who had long since been apart, the woman's fingers interspersed with the man's in a perfectly fitted hug. From that contact hundreds of small, delicate electric currents set off to awaken all the butterflies housed inside Newt and Tina.

  
    She smiled because she liked that new sensation.

  
"From the moment I arrived in this city, all the people and situations made me want to give up everything and leave forever."

  
    Tina struggled to keep her heavy eyelids open to see the young zoologist clearly. The need to see him there, a few inches away, completely consumed her.

  
"But you're different, Newt. And being next to you, even with all those bad things, makes me truly grateful to be here."

  
    Tina's eyes were flushed red when Newt decided they were the most precious things in the world to watch. Her feminine face, embraced by strands of a very dark brown hair, told him silently her process of surrendering to exhaustion. She smiled at him, however, because she wanted him to know that, from that day on, she would give him all her smiles in inexhaustible gratitude. And he, reaching for the pale skin with the back of his hand, told her in a minimal gesture that he was more than alright with those terms.

  
    In one last second of survival, Tina's conscience accurately guarded the delicate movements of Newt's fingers in a gentle slide through her hair, as well as the pleasant sensation that completely relaxed her in response to it. Before she could see or hear anything else, plunging into the dark and imminent immensity of dizziness, she concluded, with astonishing and exciting amazement, that that was the best feeling she had felt in a long time.


	14. Eyes in the darkness.

There were some cracks in the bedroom window. They allowed the sneaky rays of sunlight to bring a fragile glow into the room, accompanied by narrow currents of cold air. Newt's body laid flat on the bed, the blankets down to his collarbones. He stared at the ceiling as if expecting to find in it some plan or idea to keep Tina safe from that day on.

  
    He had considered asking Theseus to track every step of Castle Combe residents and visitors, hoping to identify suspects, but Newt didn't even know if his imagined method could be reproducible.

  
    He had also considered asking Benjamin and Oliver to watch Tina close in every move, but Newt would hate to invade the american woman's privacy if he thought about that idea any further. 

  
    Then, he had considered inviting Tina to come and share his house with him. But even though he knew that was the best of his ideas, and was excited to share that same double bed with her for the next few nights, he was certain he would never have the courage to say such boldness aloud.

  
    Tina shifted beside him, as if reacting to that thought, and he turned his eyes to her.

  
    Sometime during the early hours of the morning she had crawled across the mattress toward Newt, wrapping his arm like a child with a teddy bear, and every hour, as if there was a magnetic field between them, Tina continued to advance new inches toward him. At that moment, partially illuminated by the dim light present, she laid on her side, body facing Newt, and her soft exhales pierced the linen material of his shirt to kiss his skin in constant greetings.

  
    In other circumstances, he would have lingered on his observations of the mess of dark hair on her pale face, or would have smiled, delighted by the calm and graceful rhythm of that breath. However, the distressed, fear-responsive frown that insisted on appearing in the young woman's unconscious features was all that cried out for his attention and he understood, dismissing all his wildest ideas, that there was nothing he could do to avoid that apprehension.

  
    The song of birds began to take over his senses like an alarm sounding in the distance. He knew he had prolonged his stay on that bed longer than he thought it right. As gently as he could, Newt broke free of Tina's firm embrace and she, without opening her eyes, let out low murmurs in a silent plea for him to stay.

  
    He smiled sadly as he looked at her from the door, secretly wishing he could stay.

 

 

 

 

    Poppy was relatively riskier that morning. While Marlow and Tom stormed the shed in an impatient protest against the nutshells delay, she lurked, judging the behavior of the other two squirrels with bored honeycombs eyes.

  
    Tom was the first to approach Newt. He tucked the two nuts easily into his mouth, acquiring giant cheeks that amused the young zoologist, and then darted out into the fruit-filled beds.

  
"You're welcome." - Newt laughed to himself.

  
    Marlow stared at him with eyes as big as Tom's. Newt hurried to answer the request of his impatient little hands, and as he expected him to do so, Marlow slid down the rail next to the work desk and was lost from sight in the low grass of the yard.

  
    It was Poppy's turn, the quietest, most sneaky of the trio. Ever since she was just a puppy, the squirrel showed signs of leadership and a sense of survival like no other that had ever crossed paths with his studies. Although Newt offered nothing but food, care and protection, nothing seemed to change Poppy's strong personality.

  
    He watched her over the mug he had put to his lips. The little hands rubbed the large cheeks with intensity and occasionally ran the long tail to make it fuller and plumper. Setting the mug on the counter, Newt handed her three large nuts.

  
"Come here. Come get your breakfast." - his voice made curious ears and eyes turn in his direction. Then, as if not interested in that proposal, Poppy resumed the cleaning of her fur with a disdainful look on her little face. "Come on, Poppy. I was only thirty minutes late. What's so wrong with that?"

  
    Sure that no progress would be made, Newt took in hands a birdseed package and a small straw basket, ready to begin his activities outside the shed.

  
    The sky was open, cloudless, and the sun warmed the passing breeze, making Newt feel the need to open the first from the line of buttons that extended from the collar to the hem of his shirt and lift the sleeves to his elbows. As he did every day, he drew a trail of tiny seeds to the ground, left to the hundreds of little eyes that watched him from within the treetops, before turning his attention to the low shrubs that surrounded him. Next to the rather dark green leaves, blackberries, strawberries and raspberries hung from very thin branches and gradually filled the basket by the man's skillful and careful hands.

  
    The blazing sun on the back of his neck was beginning to bother him. Under his frowning forehead, Newt's pale irises reflected the sky in a silent plea for mercy. A drop of sweat was beginning to run down the side of his forehead.

  
"Perhaps you should take off your shirt."

  
    Laid against the shed's doorframe, with a slight flush on her nose and cheeks, Tina watched him closely. Already without his pajamas, the brunette wore a simple white linen blouse that covered her arms to the cuffs and black jeans of the previous day. Though it was as beautiful a sight as any he unconsciously held in his memory, Newt couldn't help regretting that he hadn't observed her in his red suit any longer.

  
    Take off the shirt. Yes. It seemed like a great suggestion. All of Tina's suggestions sounded great.

  
    Distracted, it took him a moment to realize that, on the woman's shoulders, visible in front of the dark-haired curtain, Poppy was watching him too. With huge cheeks that betrayed the two nuts she didn't carry in her hands, the squirrel had surprisingly calm eyes. Newt smiled at that.

  
    Newt smiled at _all_ that.

  
    He almost forgot that he couldn't take off his shirt.

  
"It's a very hot day for a february." - he commented, watching the few clouds in the sky, and flushed when he realized he was still being watched. "Did you sleep well?"

  
"I did sleep, yes." - she smiled. "And I poured myself lemon tea. It's delicious."

  
"That's great." - he hid a shy smile behind his bangs. It felt good to see her so comfortable. "What do you like to eat for breakfast? I can make you toast, scrambled eggs or even a bowl of freshly picked fruit."

  
"Actually, I'm leaving, Newt. Theseus and I agreed to meet at the police station, remember?" - she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, both anxious and frustrated to leave Newt's house for the team meeting. "I hope you don't mind that I'm leaving so soon."

  
    The man's smile faltered. He had forgotten that there the woman didn't live and would soon have to leave. It was sad to fall back to reality.

  
"Oh, of course not." - he was genuine. And the question almost escaped his mouth: _when are you coming back?_

  
    Tina watched Newt bend down to take the fruit basket in his hands, his tight shirt showing the reliefs of his skin as much as the day before. She, staring at her own boots, refused her mind's invitation to plunge into hypnosis a second time.

  
    She then sipped some more of the lemon tea, hoping that the sweet, soft drink would soothe her. She had made important decisions that morning, and she feared losing the courage to share them with the man at any moment.

  
"I'd like to talk about something with you before I go, Newt." - and her voice faltered.

  
    Newt, who was leading her into the house, nodded in silence. Resting the basket on the work desk and watching her carry Poppy to the ground with her palm, he waited for what she would have to say.

  
"I've been thinking more than I should since last night." - Tina searched for the best words to introduce that matter. "It was not very difficult to come to the conclusion that I'm in danger and I'm a target for whoever is behind these crimes that are happening. But it is about you that I would like to talk about, Newt."

  
"About me?" - he knit his brows in confusion.

  
"Yes." - she sighed, displeased. "What I mean is that there is a possibility that I'm being watched, that someone is following my footsteps. If this is happening, if anyone knows that we are so close, I fear I'm putting you at risk."

  
    Newt stared hard at the floor, unable to keep his gaze to the lips uttering those words. He didn't like the directions that conversation was taking. The feeling that the ground would open beneath his feet, swallowing him completely, was real. He hoped she wasn't intending to drive him away from her life.

  
"Maybe, just like me, you think the best solution to this problem is you getting away from me." - Tina had barely completed her sentence and Newt was staring at her, wide-eyed. "But I can't ask you that, Newt. I... I don't _want_ to ask you that, because I can't stand the thought of seeing you away from me."

  
    Tina searched for clues about what he thought in response to the things she struggled to share. She couldn't draw much from the man's astonished countenance, paralyzed eyes, or parted lips. Her cheeks were burning more than she could bear when she remembered what to do.

  
    Setting the forgotten cup in hand on the counter, where the liquid no longer steamed, Tina crossed the space between the kitchen and the living room toward the small backpack. Newt's eyes didn't follow her on her way. They remained glazed to the ground as the man struggled to clear the mess of feelings that exploded in his chest. Though unable to understand the reasons why Tina was there, telling him all those things, he was happy to share the same feelings as her.

  
    The woman's hands rummaged through her belongings for her mustard sweater and held it tightly, as if its threads were made of fragile crystal, to protect it from the swings of her footsteps on her way back. Under Newt's bewildered gaze, Tina set the garment on the counter, taking the courage to pull back the fluffy sleeves and reveal, between the folds of the fabric, a black and cold object.

  
    Neither of them liked having that sight.

  
"I always hoped it wouldn't be necessary to use it during a mission, but I don't think it can be ignored any longer."

  
    Tina looked Newt in the eye. The shades of green, blue and gold that there inhabited transported her to a serene and calm place. She felt safe to make the most important of her requests.

  
"I want you to stay with it."

  
"Stay with it?" - he stammered. "What for?"

  
"I'm not willing to abort the investigation because of the threat, so I know they'll come after me again. So if anything happens to me, I need you to be protected to pass on, whoever can help you, all the information I've ever told you in those past days." - Tina seemed to beg Newt to understand. "More than anyone else, you know everything I've lived and discovered since I arrived at Castle Combe. It's you that I trust to keep my mission alive."

  
    The man stared at her for a long moment, blinking vaguely at her face. His lips were parted, unmoving as he seemed to assimilate and analyze every word heard since early that morning.

  
"Tina, you're not asking me to-" - he swallowed his speech. "I don't know if I can do this. What about you? What are you going to do without it?"

  
"As long as I'm sure my effort is paying off, I'll be fine."

  
"I don't know if I can do this."

  
"This is the time when we should be ready to play their game, Newt." - Tina explained, confident. "Please, promise me you'll stay with it and keep yourself safe."

  
    Finding no objection in Newt's silence, the woman handed him the loaded revolver. A genuine smile lit up her countenance. As much as she hated the thought of seeing him with something so cruel at hand, something that would never match his personality, it was good to be certain that she was also doing what she could to protect him.

  
    Though with Tina he shared nothing, after several hours of thoughtfulness without coming up with any viable solution to keep her safe, Newt just took the revolver in hand because, in the moment the cold barrel had touched his fingers, he had known exactly what he had to do.

  
    Then he allowed the woman's smile to reach his own eyes, and she smiled even more with that.

  
    There were many things she wished she could say, such as thanking each one of the most simple and extraordinary things he had done to help her, or saying each of the qualities that followed Newt Scamander's name in her private collection, or confessing that everything about him made her want to stay.

  
    And there were a lot of things she wished she could do, like knowing the texture of the reddish-brown strands when wrapped around her fingers, or feeling the blush that hid all those wonderful freckles against her palms, or smiling at his big and calloused fingers intertwined with the thin and delicate ones. Or maybe pressing those smiling lips against hers.

  
    _Ah, those lips._ It was funny to think of how she had come to be drawn to them like the opposite poles of a magnet since the night before. It was frightening to think of how the thirst for taking them with her own became, little by little, even more real each time she stared at them.

  
    Tina wanted to kiss him. And she had the urge to kiss him. But aware of the consequences of her actions, her lips diverted to the side of Newt's face. They covered two or three freckles lost in that stretch of tanned skin and reveled in the softness that responded to their touch.

  
    In that moment, for Tina's most secret desires and for the doubt that still hung over her actions, that gesture was more than enough.

  
"Thank you for being who you are." - she whispered against his skin.

  
    Leaving the peculiar house of number seven without looking back, Tina didn't even have to close the door behind her body to regret letting that opportunity slip through her fingers. If she had looked back, however, she would have realized at once that she was not clinging to that kiss as a comforting gift by herself.

 

 

 

 

    That was a strangely hot morning to the first half of February.

  
    A light breeze invaded Theseus Scamander's office through the partially open shutters, and the beams of sunlight bouncing off the poorly polished furnace highlighted the dust accumulated over those past few weeks. Tina's nails drummed some music on the wooden surface and the full melody, with instruments and voices, played inside Ben and Oliver's heads as Theseus spread several papers across the desk.

  
_Porpentina E. Goldstein. 28 Avenue, number 5_. The black ink broke the yellowed uniformity of the envelope that contained information about his most recent case.

  
"The results of the Birmingham exams are not encouraging. We found no fingerprints left on the furniture, which indicates that our man was wearing gloves throughout the invasion." - Theseus announced. "Bloody son of a mother."

  
"He knew what he was doing." - Tina sighed deeply. "It's certainly someone used to doing this kind of activity. Or someone used to _investigating_ this kind of activity."

  
"Exactly what we thought yesterday." - said Benjamin. He had his hands on the back of Oliver's chair, which sat next to the woman. "And that leads us directly to the hypothesis that the attacker is Achilles Tolliver or someone sent by Torquil Travers, as you told us."

  
    Theseus, in the opposite side of the table, let out a defeated sigh.

  
"Tolliver left the town of Castle Combe yesterday afternoon." - he said.

  
"He left? How do you know that?" - Oliver spoke up.

  
"He was taken by one of the Graves mansion staff, John Baulier, to the Castle Combe hospital post after being found around the property drunk, with a serious mouth bleed and a jaw fracture." - the man explained. "With no structures to deal with the severity of the injury, the team moved Tolliver to the London emergency hospital. He entered the service at 7 pm yesterday, accompanied by Meredith Jones."

  
    Tina felt an unpleasant sensation engulfing her insides as she realized that that meant Achilles was out of Theseus's suspicions.

  
_The threat left in her house was real._

  
"It broadens our assumptions rather than reduces them." - Theseus concluded, displeased. "The invader could have been any man from anywhere in the UK."

  
    The quartet plunged into long moments of silence. The gears of their reasoning worked with intensity.

  
"And what are we going to do now?" - it was Benjamin who questioned.

  
"I thought of some security schemes for Tina. We can do nightly rounds around her house, starting today. We can also leave her with one of our communicators so she can talk to us in real time."

  
"I don't want to keep you busy with me, Theseus." - Tina felt embarrassed. "You already have enough work here to use your time with me."

  
    Before she could reject Theseus's proposals a second time, a communicator was extended to her by Oliver. The man gave her a reassuring smile and, feeling her cheeks heat up as she took the object in hand, she murmured her thanks.

  
"You're one of us, Tina. And we stand up for each other." - Theseus didn't smile, but there was warmth in his gaze. "We can set the round table at the end of the meeting. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to give you all some reminders."

  
    There was a paper of various pen-written items on the right corner of the table. He took it in his hands and analyzed the inscriptions before saying them out loud.

  
"We should not forget about the other goals of our district, such as finding those responsible for the theft of the locomotive. Therefore, as we have not yet ascertained the openness that borders the railroad tracks, where I believe those responsible for the burglary have run away, I think a survey can help us find some important clues."

  
"We can schedule the survey sometime this week." - Oliver suggested. "Tomorrow morning, who knows?"

  
"I had thought we'd visit the Graves mansion tomorrow." - Theseus stared at the second item on his list. "We need to get Eberdith to sign the mansion inheritance paperwork, because we can't postpone the pledge of other property any longer."

  
    Everyone silently agreed to Theseus's suggestion.

  
"Well, we must also find the recipient of the money diverted to London by Percival Graves, and as much as I trust Seraphina Picquery's suspicions about Torquil Travers's involvement in this matter, we have no means of proving it."

  
    The mention of Torquil Travers made Tina's hands fist in a matter of seconds. Although she dreamed of the usurper's defeat each night, she hated him more each day.

  
"The next item on my list concerns the possible murder of Percival Graves and how it might be related to the locomotive robbery. Like Picquery, I believe the sender of the medications that caused Percival's death could bring us some clue to the recipient of the money and vice versa, as both have a direct link to the city of London. And that leads us directly to the next item: the leakage of ministerial information that compromised Picquery's tracking of the capsules sender. Of course, we also have the President's death and the invasion of Tina Goldstein's house to discuss."

  
    Theseus made a pause, sighing heavily, and rested the paper on the surface of his desk. Tina could see that there were numerous pencil-scribbled arrows, starting from one item and pointing to another in every possible direction, as if linking events to each other.

  
"Do you notice the patterns?" - the sheriff questioned. "Do you see that all these facts seem connected?"

  
    But Theseus Scamander's voice had been little more than an incomprehensible hiss to Tina's ears. The woman's head was bombarded with information as she realized that a line of reasoning in her mind fit perfectly with the seemingly disconnected puzzles of those arrows.

  
    Percival Graves planned to divert money from illicit activities to someone in the capital and the money was stolen the same night the man was murdered by ingesting a tyramine capsule, sent by someone from London, for the first time.

  
    Meanwhile, through Achilles Tolliver's investigations, Picquery discovered Graves's schemes and his plan to send the money to London, and realized that everything fit perfectly with her assumption that the Ministry was protecting illegal activities through bribery.

  
    Shortly afterwards, Tina had considered the possibility that Percival's death might not have been a fatality.

  
    Then someone had leaked information about the tracking of the capsules to protect their sender.

  
    Picquery was shot to death.

  
    Travers had taken over the presidency.

  
    Tina had confronted him.

  
    Someone broke into her house.

  
    Understanding drifted over Tina's body like a bucket of cold water.

  
"Percival was paying to be covered up and died because those covering him knew he was being investigated and that could mean their own exposure. That's why the money was taken from the wagon before the locomotive left for London. Because if it reached the capital, it would refute Madam Picquery's assumptions about the Ministry involvement!" - Tina had her eyes glazed on the graphite arrows. Her hands shook as she looked up at Theseus, who was watching her closely. "What if the money was never actually stolen?"

  
"It could have been removed from the wagon just as a distraction." - Theseus followed the woman's line of reasoning.

  
"A distraction to alter the course of our investigations, a distraction to confuse us." - Oliver completed.

  
"It would also explain what Francis told us, on one of our visits to the railroad station, about the man who had demanded the staff to put the money on the wagon to be the one who had demanded its removal." - Tina added. "He said this man was Percival Graves, but he may have lied because he knew the real criminal is alive, perhaps even closer than we think, and keeping the railroad staff under surveillance."

  
"That makes perfect sense." - Benjamin murmured through parted lips. "But how do we know who this man is?"

  
    Then the memories flashed vividly through Tina's eyes.

 

_I don't trust the Ministry, Tina._

 

_Corrupt and influential men always have the help of other corrupt and influential men._

 

_He's an ambitious man. I should've known that replacing myself in the presidency during my absence would make him wish it was ever-lasting._

 

_You saw with your own eyes the end of your beloved Seraphina Picquery's legacy. She got herself into a crossroads and dragged you with her. You're lucky to get out of this alive._

 

    She was sure she knew who he was. Or who he worked for.

  
"We'll interrogate Francis discreetly outside the railroad station and hope for some new clue. That's where we start our hunt."

  
    But still without proof, she silently nodded at Theseus's instructions.

  
     Despite all that she had experienced so far, Tina was truly happy to be back at work.

 

 

 

 

"Yorkshire pudding and home brew?"

  
    The younger woman raised her eyebrows as she brushed the beer glass in her wet lips.

  
"You are raising my expectations for the first semester of college."

  
"I promised you a themed celebration." - her mother, a thin, tired-eyed woman, shrugged happily.

  
    The older man between the two of that quartet watched the scene from the corners of his eyes, a gray mustache dancing as his lips twitched into a wide smile. He waited for his wife to place the last of the dishes on the table so that he could be served.

  
"My daughter studying law at Cambridge University." - the man muttered dreamily. "It's a beautiful day to be alive."

  
"We're getting too old, Robert." - the older woman mimicked a disconcerted expression. "Our children are no longer children."

  
"In a little over four years we will be taking care of little ones again, Brigitte. The natural order of things says that the next step to university graduation is the formation of a family."

  
"Hey!" - the daughter exclaimed, offended by her father's statement. "I have at least two post-graduations ahead, thank you very much! And, according to the true natural order of things, it is the firstborn who should give you the honor. Oliver hasn't even married yet."

  
    Surprised by the three pairs of eyes facing him, Oliver busied himself with filling his own glass with his mother's beer. He wouldn't need confirmation to know that his mother was giving him short, frequent glances, as if waiting for him to say something about the matter. The father, on the other hand, did not seem to disguise the analytical interest in the figure of his eldest son.

  
"That's not a problem. It's just a matter of time before Oliver introduces us to someone, from what I've been observing lately." - he smiled, fun and provocative. "Am I wrong?"

  
    His father's eyes seemed so serene and receptive at that moment that Oliver thought of it as the opportunity he had been waiting for. The urge to talk openly about that with the family seemed bigger every day.

  
    That was a good word to characterize the feeling of anxiety, suffocation and apprehension that lived in his being. _Urgency._

  
"I have someone, yes."

  
    The exaggerated clink of cutlery falling on a plate of dishes almost immediately followed Oliver's confession. Uncontained exclamations of joy escaped the parted lips of his mother and sister.

  
    Oliver smiled into his lap, momentarily embarrassed by that reaction. He knew that, no matter how much she shared, his mother's mind was being filled with visions of children running around the room, piercing chocolate cakes on the table and breaking flower pots with soccer balls.

  
    _Would that reaction last?_

  
_Would it be any different?_

  
"You look so happy." - his father's voice snapped him from his thoughts. "Handsome, with bright and passionate eyes like never before. I've never seen you this way before, for anyone."

  
"It's true love, Robert." - the mother clarified.

  
"Indeed, dear." - the man agreed. "Do you remember, Oliver? Do you remember your first girlfriend, the one you brought here at home when you were about twelve? Oh, Oliver. She liked you so much, but she liked you so much that I thought you would marry her. But you didn't like her that much, did you? I didn't see this same devotion of yours, back then."

  
    Oliver felt his stomach spin. The smile on his lips faltered.

  
"I was a child, father."

  
"Why, and I was a child when I started dating your mother. The point is not that. The point is that this _woman_ you are with, whoever _she_ is, _she_ owns your heart. I feel it, Oliver. She will be the _mother_ of my grandchildren!"

  
    And a new twist brought Oliver's stomach a nausea that made him feel weak. There was no more lasting smile on his lips.

  
    He could not tell how long he remained motionless, staring at the details of the empty porcelain with little or no interest. Only when his sister poked him by the elbow he realized that he was no longer the center of attention.

  
"Won't you help yourself?" - she asked. Her eyes searched his brother's face with remarkable acuity.

  
    His father's monologue about the family's grocery profits vaguely reached his ears.

  
    Iv, still in her clinical analysis, stared at him with a downcast, resigned frown, bathed in something similar to compassion, for which he could not hold his gaze.

  
    With frozen guts and a closed throat, he realized that his appetite had evaporated like the faint cloud of heat emanating from the platters on the table.

  
    He felt the urge to cry.

  
    Perhaps the father would notice his sudden change in behavior. Perhaps his father would wonder the reason for his apparent discomfort at being present at the table. Perhaps his father would doubt the reason for his convictions to bring a breathless countenance to his eldest son's face. Maybe he would even take his son's pains for himself and welcome him into a real hug.

  
    And then, maybe it was time for Oliver to tell the truth.

  
    But completely oblivious to everything around him, Robert just raised his beer mug in the air.

  
"A toast to our Iv!"

 

 

 

 

    Freshly ironed T-shirts were piled on the edge of the bed and disappeared from view, one by one, as the man returned them to the open drawer.

  
    He had remained silent during the end of the celebration dinner for the conquest of Ivane, his younger sister, who was about to start college. Along with his appetite, his words had vanished from his mouth. His head ached from thinking. Perhaps that could be a good explanation for the frowning, frustrated countenance that refused to leave his face.

  
    Oliver looked up from the striped T-shirt he held in hand when he noticed the soft creak of the door hinge. A slim, small figure with honey-colored hair that fell to the waist gently turned the knob to leave them alone in the room. He didn't care about the invasion. He had never been able to feel anything but vast love and care for his sister.

  
"I'm sorry to put you on the spot today. It wasn't my intention." - she said.

  
"It's all right."

  
    With a quick glance at her brother's uncomfortable expressions, Ivane began to help him lower the pile of cotton pieces. She remained silent, swallowing her own unease, to the point where her most unceasing doubt could no longer be kept.

  
"When are you telling them?"

  
"Tell them what?"

  
    Ivane raised a single eyebrow and lowered her voice considerably.

  
"That's not a _she_."

  
"How do you know?"

  
"Well, that's clear, isn't it?" - she ventured, nervously. "I mean, your routine is leaving home for work and leaving work to drink with your colleague until dawn. You never mention a she. It's pretty obvious to me."

  
    Oliver swallowed hard. He had experienced that moment in dreams and nightmares millions of times.

  
"Is it that obvious to anyone else?"

  
"Mother is considering the possibility."

  
"And you are the one to put the possibility in her head?" - he showed pain and concern in his voice.

  
"No, Oliver. Are you crazy?" - she sounded offended by her brother's apparent distrust. "Of course I wouldn't do that to you! But there's no one in this world who knows you better than she does. She notices it, too."

  
"And what does she think about it?"

  
"She never says anything, but I think she's worried. And the way I can read her behavior, she's worried that you're keeping it to yourself, under lock and key, rather than sharing it with us." - she assessed her brother's slightly annoyed frown and released a heavy sigh. "And I don't think she's the only one, is she?"

  
    Oliver looked down at his own hands. He remembered Benjamin. He remembered that he was hurting Benjamin more each day with his lack of courage to talk to his parents about who he really loves, his lack of courage to look them in the eye and finally know how things would be from that moment on.

  
    _Would they be better?_

  
"This secret is consuming you, brother. She loves you more than anything in the world. Why not end all your suffering at once?"

  
"It's not her I'm afraid of." - he shook his head in denial. "Don't you see the biased jokes? Don't you see that he doesn't even consider the possibility, as you say mother does? He _laughs_ at people like me, Iv. He _despises_ people like me."

  
"He was raised in an unreal world. It's absurd to say something like that, but it's the truth. He was created to marry a woman, was raised to think that a child must have a father and a mother and nothing else. His world, which unfortunately is still ours, makes you think that loving who you love makes you different and, if you handle it well, makes you think that being different is wrong."

  
"You're not helping, Ivane."

  
    Oliver seemed too hurt to continue that conversation. He reached for one of the neatly folded T-shirts, placing all his attention on the fabric in an attempt to get his sister to rise and disappear through the door.

  
    But she was as stubborn as ever, and she did not give in to her brother's implicit request. Instead, she took his rounded face in her hands to make him look her in the eye.

  
"If the world will not change for you, then you will have to change the world." - she emphasized her statement. " _Teach_ , Oliver. Teach the people that the world they were created for does not exist, that it never existed. Teach that the language of love is the same for everyone, no matter who they love. Show your father that the things he says hurt you. Show him that you're the only one who can know what's best for you."

  
    A small tear rolled down the man's face and he suppressed a gasp.

  
"What if he doesn't accept me?"

  
"He'll have to respect you anyway." - she assured him, wiping the wet tracks off his cheeks. "I'm your sister, she's your mother, and he's your father. If we don't accept or respect who you are, we'll be failing as a family. And it's not your fault if that happens."

  
    They remained for a moment in deep silence, only communicating by ever so complicit glances. When he thought the fear in his chest could collapse him, Oliver took the little woman into his arms. Burying his contorted face in her hair, he finally felt protected inside that embrace.

  
    He refused to cry. He refused to collapse after finding in Ivane a safe haven. How could he have thought that the ever-understanding, hard-headed, fair girl would turn her back on him at such an important moment?

  
    He wouldn't collapse. For Ivane, he wouldn't collapse.

  
    Lovingly guarding her older brother's words of gratitude, the girl kissed his forehead.

  
"Don't give up your happiness for the comfort of others, all right?" - she muttered, standing up. Her stature was so small that it barely exceeded the height of Oliver sitting on the mattress. "Also because your boyfriend is too cute for you to be afraid of showing him around."

  
    It was good to be able to hear Oliver's laugh, after all. It was also good to mess up the short hair until it was completely misaligned. She would have given him light shoves, or pinched his nose, had it not been for the female voice that had broken through the house to call her downstairs.

  
    At the bedroom door she hesitated, and stopped to look fondly at her brother again.

  
"Hey, Olly." - and to the still red eyes she smiled. "I'm very proud of you."

 

 

 

 

    The only light that bloomed in the imminent darkness, coming from the last of the houses, was reflected in the dark bodywork of the parked vehicle. It illuminated the interior of the tiny kitchen window, where the man's attention was focused. There were no signs of its inhabitant's presence.

  
    The soles of his shoes drowned out the discreet noises of the grass surrounding the building. He glanced over his shoulder at the deserted street, lit only by the dim light of one or two posts, before advancing against the trees in the adjacent woods of the property.

  
    He paused near the glass door, realizing that the light beams advancing to the outside might betray his presence. On four supports, advancing on his knees and palms, he crouched between the wooden bench and the out lamppost. That would be the perfect place.

  
    His attention then turned to the large glass door before his eyes.

  
    Illuminated by the light of the living room, it was floor-to-ceiling like a painting depicting the existence of that lonely resident. Through the thin strands of the curtain, the outline of the furniture was clearly seen. There was a three-seater sofa with a lamp beside it. There was a dresser, and upon it rested porcelain statues. There was a round table in one corner of the room, one of its three chairs accommodated the woman he sought.

  
    Her hair fell over her shoulders, slightly curled, and she tucked it behind her ears so she could see the pages of a book. The ankles were crossed below the chair seat and swayed at an unhurried pace. From time to time she would look away from the pages of the book, as if reflecting on something that was written there. Or about something that wasn't. He could not say.

  
      _Did she know she was beautiful? Any way. Anywhere. Any time._

  
    The ponderings circled his mind. He wished he could tell her all those things.

  
    After some time, obvious to the observation, the woman released a heavy sigh, closing the book on the table. She rested her chin on one hand and tapped the wooden surface with the other. She still reflected in silence.

  
    Maybe she was feeling insecure, he thought. Maybe she was wondering what the night would hold for her existence, what plans would be hidden behind a large "X" painted in red ink.

  
    Instinctively, his hands palpated the bulge in the inside pocket of his coat. He was ready to pull out the gun at any moment.

  
    Awakened from her trance, the woman searched for the lost cell phone between the objects on her desk. She scrolled through the display for a while. She took it to her ear and waited. Her expressions moved between expectation and disappointment.

  
    Seconds after nibbling her lips and frowning in resignation, she returned the device to the table. She dipped her fingers between the strands of hair. She rubbed her face with both hands. Behind her thin, pale fingers she revealed a tired, haggard face.

  
    She stood up, extinguished the brightness of the room, walked until she disappeared down the corridor.

  
    The man looked up at the open sky above his head, sighing heavily. A cold, sharp frizzle clinked in his bones, ruffled his hair and made him shrink into his robes. Also in response to it, the leaves that made up the treetops whispered. Alert, as if waiting for someone else to be there, he checked the backyard and, making sure he had a full view of the area throughout the night, sat down in a more comfortable position.

  
    Removing the revolver and manuscript he intended to finish writing from the inside of his coat, with the image of Tina smiling beneath his knuckles and the vivid sensation of the woman's lips against the skin of his face, Newt concluded the first of the nights when he would be on guard without considering, for even a fraction of a second, the abandonment of his post.


	15. Clear water.

As if the black marble on the walls of the room was icy cold, the man was unable to stop his teeth from chattering. The pain he felt seemed to reach his toes, and he was filled with hatred for it.

  
    He was waiting alone, seated in one of several wooden chairs that were arranged in a semicircle, like a small auditorium, for the arrival of his superior. In an embarrassing nervousness, his heels fluttered up and down without even being aware of it. The heavy sound of his breathing was all that reverberated deep within the building.

  
    He knew the reason for being there at dawn, still feeling the anesthetic remnants of the surgery to his skin. The time had come for him to confront the consequences of his mistakes. His gut ached at the thought of the possible expressions on the face of the man that was about to enter that room.

  
    It was all her fault. That slut bitch. He should have taught her obedience, taken her by the hair, subjected her to the same pains, the same bruises, the same terror he had faced when he had a chance.

  
    Shivering in anger at the woman's mental image, he locked his jaw tightly and the gesture, instead of containing his emotions, caused an explosive pain in his fracture. He exploded. A punch almost overcame the vacillating old chair material just ahead.

  
"You look like a wreck" - said Torquil Travers' deep, rigid voice.

  
    The short man, gray-haired between some black strands, closed the door behind him without losing sight of the breathless man. His face, unlike expected, showed a neutral expression. It was not possible to predict what would come next.

  
    Tolliver, lowering his eyes to the ground while the man took each new stride toward him, said nothing.

  
"The surgery must have been long and painful" - Travers continued. His voice was all that gave life to the environment. "A proper punishment, I must say."

  
    Travers stepped in front of the man and studied him. He was pale, with huge dark circles under Luciferian eyes, smelling strongly of alcohol and tobacco. There were one or two traces of blood on his dirty, rumpled shirt.

  
    Though that was a repulsive image, the President did not alter his countenance.

  
"Where are your things?"

  
"Home."

  
"Where is my car?"

  
"Upstairs. Garage."

  
"Where are the investigation documents?"

  
"Your room."

  
"Where is she?"

  
    Tolliver flinched. Not because talking about Tina Goldstein was to him like an adrenaline injection into his veins. No longer. At that moment, face to face with whom he feared most in the world, talking about Tina Goldstein was to him like signing a death sentence.

  
"Castle Combe."

  
    Before he could foresee the movement, the back of Travers's hand struck his face with unprecedented force. He tasted blood slipping through his mouth.

  
"What is she doing in Castle Combe?"

  
"Investigating."

  
    Another slap. Tolliver spat a puddle of blood on the floor.

  
"And why is she investigating at Castle Combe, Tolliver, if I ordered you to bring her back to London?"

  
    Achilles was silent. It was difficult to utter that confession.

  
"Tell me, Tolliver. Why?"

  
"I failed."

  
"You failed?" - Travers laughed a dark laugh. "You didn't even try."

  
    Achilles closed his eyes tightly, as if swallowing a bitter medicine.

  
"You have not been able to keep a woman under your reins, Tolliver. You have not been able to do the least to keep her under your spell, to control that strong temper she has. You let her idolize Picquery, let they be so close to the point of sharing secrets about me, about us. You let her say, loud and clear, to anyone who would listen, everything we did "- he crouched in front of the man. He said the following words as if explaining something to a child. "It's all your fault."

  
"I know I failed. But-"

  
    Another slap. As quickly as it appeared, Travers's serene tone faded.

  
"If only that slut proves you're responsible for leaking information from Seraphina Picquery's investigation, Tolliver, if only Goldstein proves we've done everything to weaken her in her position... If only it goes through her mind that the money from Percival Graves was meant for me..."- and at that moment there was fear in the President's eyes. "How much will the Council believe what was done and what was luck?"

  
    The subordinate did not have the courage to meet his superior's narrowed eyes. He feared that the overflowing anger in those irises would swallow him completely.

  
"Bring Tina Goldstein to me, Tolliver" - the statement was a threat.

  
"I can't. I can't handle her any longer. She's no longer in love with me."

  
"What did you say?"

  
"She found out I was meeting another woman and ran into the arms of Theseus Scamander's brother. Dating is over."

  
"Are you telling me you lost control of Goldstein, you put all my plans into risk because you couldn't settle your ass, Tolliver?"

  
"I needed Meredith to prove Percival Graves' illicit activities" - and he heard Travers's bitter, nasal laugh as he walked away. He felt the anger grow in his neck. Why didn't the President understand his side? "It was an order from Seraphina Picquery, she was on my toes all the time because of that. I had no choice!"

  
"You take Seraphina Picquery's orders that put my skin on the line, you leave Tina Goldstein free to find out and reveal the things I've done, you show up in this fucking Ministry drunk, dirty and broken by a horse groom" - the voice of the man was as deep and dark as ever. Achilles shivered with fear. "Seriously, Tolliver. Give me just one reason for not to strangle you here and now."

  
"I'll fix it all. I promise."

  
"Of course you will. Are you going to kill her? Are you going to admit her to a psychiatric clinic, saying she's hallucinating and punching your mouth until she breaks your jaw? I'm interested in how you'll shut her up and get rid of all the charges I can receive anytime from now on."

  
    There was nothing but mockery in Torquil Travers's mouth as the man uttered his monologue. Tolliver had, for the first time in a long time, tasted the pleasure of taking control of the situation. He knew that no matter how threatened he was, the President was on his strings like a puppet.

  
    Pleasure filled Tolliver even more knowing that Torquil Travers's future wasn't the only one in his hands.

  
"Someone has to take the blame for some crimes" - and, despite the pain, the anger and the fear, a devilish smile formed on his bloody lips. "And I have a name to suggest."

 

 

 

 

    Newt hadn't nailed his eyes for a second since the night before.

  
    It was a little after seven in the morning when Theseus began his monologue about the care his staff would take during their visit to the Graves Mansion. Newt had been summoned to take them to Eberdith and, with a little luck, help them convince her to sign the house's inheritance paperwork. He hated the idea of breaking into his brother's diplomatic affairs, but heeded his requests anyway.

  
    Theseus was explaining something about avoiding creating an atmosphere of tension on the widow when Newt realized that he was turning his attention exclusively elsewhere: to the woman sitting on the lobby sofa, fidgeting with her own nails with vague interest, who waited patiently for the circle of employees to be dispersed.

  
    Occasionally their eyes would met because, though with remarkable discretion, Tina had her eyes on Newt as well. And then they would smiled for a few seconds, before looking away in other directions. The frequency with which that cycle was repeated was as distressing as their lack of opportunities to talk.

  
    Eventually, Theseus's monologue came to an end, and Benjamin and Oliver scrambled to store the paperwork in a briefcase, ready for the imminent departure. The pair's movement made Newt feel tired, and nothing he could do to prevent the heavy dark circles in his eyes and the constant yawning from being noticed by his older brother.

  
"You don't seem to have slept at all last night" - Theseus commented, casually.

  
"I had a busy night" - Newt vaguely explained. He mentally hoped that his brother would not question him further.

  
"Agitated?" - the eldest raised his eyebrows, surprised. "That's interesting. May I know the reason?"

  
    Newt risked a quick glance at Tina, who was sitting a few feet from the brothers and could not help but listen to that dialogue, and almost clenched his fingers in nervousness. Judging by his brother's mischievous tone of voice, he knew exactly that he could no longer escape that conversation. And he feared, most of all, that his true whereabouts would be discovered by either of his two listeners.

  
"I worked until it was late. That's all" - he explained, his voice small as a breath.

  
    Theseus stood with raised eyebrows, staring at Newt with the explicit expression of one who struggled to believe his brother's apology. He knew him too well to read the lines of his flushed face, his hunched posture, and his constant glances at the american woman.

  
"Well, until it was much late, uh? Mother said she called you on the phone all night and you didn't answer."

  
    Newt plunged into silence for a few seconds and Tina looked at him in a quick, unconscious gesture. She knew that keeping up on listening that conversation was wrong, the notion that she invaded Newt's privacy and the ardor that hit her gut when considering hypotheses and reasons why he was clearly lying to his older brother constantly reminded her of the impropriety of her act. But she could not go back. She had fueled her curiosity too much to ignore it.

  
    Taken with momentary indigestion, she looked down at her own feet, wanting both to leave the police district and to hear what else Newt would have to say.

  
"I didn't listen to the phone, Thes. The shed door was closed while I worked."

  
    His brother's narrowed eyes appraised him, as if they could see memories and thoughts, and Newt knew at once that his words were unconvincing. Casting Theseus a wry smile, as though through it apologizing silently, was all he could do.

  
"If you say so..." - Theseus muttered, finally shrugging. Though slightly hurt by his brother's lack of confidence to share important parts of his personal life with others, he knew Newt well enough to understand his point.

  
    Oliver approached Theseus, resuming a point already debated by them that morning, and Newt found himself alone to deal with the intense flush on his cheeks.

  
    When his eyes felt safe enough to leave his own shoes, he searched for Tina in the lobby. He found her by the coffee maker, pushing buttons as she waited for the black liquid to fill a plastic cup. She was staring at the machine with a slightly frown.

  
    She gave Newt a short look and a small smile when she noticed his approach, then concentrated on checking if the liquid had already stopped dripping onto the cup.

  
"You look tired" - she commented, her tone low and weak. "Want some coffee to wake you up?"

  
"No, thank you."

  
    The smell of roasted coffee and the woman's proximity seemed enough to make Newt feel awake.

  
    Without looking at him again, Tina busied herself with pouring two and a half spoons of sugar into the steaming drink.

  
"So... how was your night?" - she finally asked, before bringing the drink to her lips.

  
    Maybe it was just a fruit of his tired mind, but Newt had a feeling that there was something different about Tina's tone that morning. She looked a little distant, formal.

  
"Good" - Newt reported without much enthusiasm. He wanted to give her the impression that he had done something unrelated to standing guard in the yard of her house. "And yours?"

  
"Good" - she replied, mimicking Newt's expression.

  
    In fact, something was wrong with Tina that morning.

  
    She still had no intention of looking at him, as if such a gesture could not even be considered, and he missed the brown eyes, so beautiful and bright, turned toward him. An uncomfortable ache was beginning to strike him in the stomach. He was beginning to wonder if the woman had turned back on her decision to keep him close.

  
    Did she intend to move away little by little until they were mere strangers on two barstools again?

  
    He did not have to remain in his silent inquiries for long.

  
"Were you upset that I made that request, Newt?" - Tina questioned, apparently hurt.

  
"The request about protecting me with that thing?" - he lowered his voice as he hissed the last words and Tina nodded. "No. I mean, I was a little surprised. To be honest, the idea of seeing you unprotected to protect me is not at all pleasant. But I understand your point, so I think it all ended well."

  
    Tina made a low noise deep in her throat, demonstrating that she understood what Newt meant. But the reluctant, hurt look still lingered on her face when she spoke again.

  
"It's just that last night I called you, but you didn't answer either."

  
"Did you call me?" - caught off guard by that information, Newt stammered.

  
    In fact, he remembered seeing her carry the cell phone to her ear at some point in his remarks of the night before, before adopting a frustrated countenance and returning the mobile to the table. So it was him that she called. It was because of him that she seemed so resigned.

  
    Immediately, Newt regretted choosing to leave the device at home.

  
"Yeah, it was late" - Tina frowned, momentarily aware that she had actually called him late at night. "I thought maybe you refused my call because you were mad at me, but that seems not to be the case, uh?"

  
    There was no humor in Tina's small, discreet laugh.

  
"And why did you call me? Did something happen?" - he sounded concerned.

  
"No. Nothing happened" - Tina put her hand in her pocket, looking embarrassed. "I think I just wanted someone to talk to, that's all. I hope I didn't mess you up with your plans or cause any trouble between you and your mate with my call."

  
    The annoying ardor that tore through her guts quickly became a nuisance as big and heavy as a block of ice. The bitter that filled her taste had nothing to do with the coffee in her hands.

  
    The truth was, even though she had a feeling of knowing him as well as the lines of her own hands, there was so much about Newt that was still unknown to Tina. One notable aspect, perhaps most important to her at the time, was the man's love life. Though very shy, always alone and promoted as a good suitor by Philipe, none of those things nullified the possibility of Newt dating or courting someone privately. And, to the strange discomfort that plagued her, the conversation just held by him and his brother refuted her considerations.

  
    Other than that, Newt had never shown any real signs of interest in her.

  
    There, in front of Newt's indecipherably astonished eyes, Tina thought she was pathetic in thinking that he might be attracted to her, in considering the possibility of experiencing anything other than that unexpected friendship.

  
    There, in front of Newt's indecipherably astonished eyes, Tina wanted to disappear.

  
"What did you say?" - he asked, confused.

  
"Well, it's obvious to me that you were with someone last night. But I don't want to invade your personal life, Newt. I know you want to see it out of Theseus's ears" - though hissed with visible jealousy, those words were true. In her heart, however, she knew there were other reasons as well for not wanting to go deeper into that matter. "I just want you to know that I apologize for disturbing you so late. And that it won't happen again."

  
    Unable to take that situation any further, Tina discarded the plastic cup with the rest of its contents in the nearest bin. She was desperate for fresh air, ready to leave the police district toward the post office, as had been asked of her to do by Theseus, when Newt's light, slightly icy fingers touched her forearm.

  
"Tina, you weren't, you aren't and you'll never be a disturbance to me."

  
    Tina nodded silently, tried to say her thanks and say that she really needed to get mail, but she felt voiceless. Newt's touch and words were gentle as a feather, but strong enough to trigger her heartbeat. She knew she needed to suppress that feeling, for she was already showing enough feelings to be ashamed of.  

  
    And Newt hadn't denied her assumptions about what he was doing the night before, she shouldn't get too attached to that moment.

  
    Because he thought he might explode if he didn't follow his impulses, Newt clarified:

  
"And I don't have a girlfriend or anything like you said. You already know most of those who keep me company at home, Tina. And, believe me, not even the trickiest of them see you as a problem."

  
    The utterly unexpected statement disarmed Tina's rigid posture, her unconsciousness focused only on the exaggerated drumming of her heart in her ears. With a slightly relieved expression, she would open and close her mouth over and over, preparing to say something, when she saw Theseus's sneaky approach over Newt's shoulders.

  
"We're ready to leave, Newt. You can go with me, in my car."

  
    And for the second time that day, Newt hated the idea of breaking into his brother's diplomatic affairs.

  
    He let the arm that touched her fall limp against the side of his body, more frustrated than ever, and just caught the glimpse of a small smile on Tina's lips, thrust toward him before she continued until she disappeared into the gateway to the police station.

  
    What did that change of expression mean? That Tina was happy to know he had no one? That she was glad to hear that Newt minded telling her he had no one?

  
    And if so, what did that mean?

  
    Doubt consumed him completely in a slow process. Suddenly, knowing the answers to those questions became all that mattered in Newt's mind.

  
    For that reason, he was not surprised to hear such a bold and sudden request being voiced as he was on his way to the Graves Mansion.

  
"Theseus, would you lend me your car tonight?"

  
"My car?" - Theseus was surprised by the sudden request of the youngest brother. "Of course I would. But what do you need it for?"

  
"To take someone somewhere."

  
    Theseus realized that he was wrong when he thought that he could not be surprised by Newt again, that day. He assessed the red hue that colored his brother's face to get lost under the fabric of his shirt and suppressed an amused smile.

  
"To take someone somewhere" - he repeated. "Where are you planning to take Tina tonight?"

  
    Newt played with his thumbs on his lap, embarrassed to the extreme of his ability.

  
"How do you know that?"

  
"Why, you're giving all the hints that you're in love with her, Newt" - Theseus turned the steering wheel and took the opportunity to give his brother the playful smile he had suppressed.

  
"I'm not in love with her, Theseus."

  
    Theseus made no effort to ignore his brother's protest.

  
"I've been wanting to question you about your relationship with her for a while. From the first time I saw you interacting, to be honest."

  
"She's a friend. You know we worked together on her investigations into Percival Graves' death, don't you?"

  
"You did?" - Theseus seemed momentarily distracted. He was looking for Ben and Oliver's vehicle for the rearview mirror. The Mansion was beginning to be seen through the trees. "City rumors say you did a lot more than work together."

  
"And you believe them?"

  
"I believe you, Newt. But I confess that you make me confused when you talk one way and act another."

  
    Newt sighed in defeat. He knew he couldn't counter the obvious while he was with Theseus.

  
"I like her very much" - he confessed, feeling the air grow thin under Theseus's victorious countenance. "But she just got out of a terrible relationship, just saw a person who was very fond of being murdered and just had her house overrun by someone who probably wants her dead. Not only will I take her out because I hope she knows that I like her, but also because I want to see her truly happy for at least two hours. Because she's my friend."

  
    Theseus remained silent for a moment, digesting his brother's confession with a pang of pride in his chest. That Newt was a special man Theseus already knew. But that Newt was a special man who was so fond of someone to the point of talking openly about it with his brother was something new.

  
    There was still a smile on the older man's lips as he parked the vehicle in front of the mansion's fountain.

  
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do inside my car" - he warned mischievously.

  
    Newt blushed intensely as he shook his head.

  
"No and no."

  
    At the sound of Theseus' laughter, the brothers left the vehicle and drove through the flowering bushes toward the front door of the mansion.

 

 

 

 

    The car parked in front of the house with startling silence, its lead color camouflaging the asphalt wet by the fine drizzle. It would be the only one parked in that lane, if not for the ministerial model just ahead, whose shiny black bodywork reflected the lights of the front door.

  
    In the quiet, comfortable interior of the car a long, heavy sigh had been heard. Little by little it tore off the volume that filled that man's chest. The air around him became too hot as his freckled hands cooled like two sculptures of ice. Although he had repeated all of his next speeches throughout the day, hoping that if he memorized them all would go well, he was still anxious.

  
    A movement through the kitchen curtains made him smile with his eyes: _there she was._

  
    Because he thought he could not torture himself for another minute, or because he thought that remaining paralyzed by his insecurities would only make them waste valuable time, he faced the icy air that shook the treetops.

  
    When the woman appeared on the other side of the door, with slightly curly hair and a comfortable sweatshirt of someone who expected little more than to stay home that night, he was paralyzed for a totally different reason.

  
"Newt?"

  
"Hey" - still distracted by the beauty she exuded at the slightest effort, he tried to remember his next speech. "Can I come in?"

  
"Sure" - Tina moved away for him to step in. She still looked surprised and somewhat lost by his unexpected visit. "Can I hang your jacket?"

  
"Oh, it won't be necessary."

  
    Tina waited for him to say something else, but with his hands in his pockets and his gaze lost to the ground, he seemed to have forgotten how to speak.

  
"Well, make yourself at home. Dinner is almost ready. Can I have you a drink?"

  
"Not really, Tina. That's exactly what I'm... I'm here to..." - embarrassed by his nervousness, Newt cleared his throat before completing his sentence. "I'm here because I would like to take you somewhere if you allow me."

  
"Take me somewhere?" - she raised involuntary eyebrows, hearing her failed voice echo like a sob. Her heart was beginning to beat in her ears. "Where?"

  
"It's... well, it's a surprise."

  
    Each new information about that proposal made Tina's heart race faster. She realized then that being taken somewhere unknown by Newt was a secret desire she didn't know she possessed.

  
"I'm going to love it, Newt, for real" - but then she felt her agitated expression falter as he remembered an important question to consider. "But isn't it too dangerous to be seen together here-"

  
"The place is not in Castle Combe, Tina" - Newt interrupted, understanding what Tina meant. "It's in a tiny little town called Lacock. We'll just go you and me and I'm sure we'll be safe. I brought that thing you gave me anyway. It'll be with us all the time."

  
    Tina let her eyes scan Newt's full image as she pretended to ponder the invitation, as if she was no longer willing to accept it from the start. She watched the white, black-striped sweater he wore, from its high collar to the hem, the black jeans she'd never seen him wear, the whimsical sneakers, and finally the faux leather jacket that gave him an irresistibly dangerous air.

  
    She had a good omen about the night.

  
"Your clothes are very elegant. Should I wear something appropriate?"

  
    Newt couldn't hide the smile that lit his features. Plunged into unprecedented ecstasy, he wanted to tell her that any outfit would be appropriate, because he was sure that with any outfit that woman would be beautiful.

  
"Maybe a coat. It's windy enough" - was what he deemed appropriate to say.

  
"I promise not to be long. You can feel like this is your home in the meantime."

  
    Tina strode down the hall and disappeared through her bedroom door with a constant smile on her lips. Newt, watching her all the time, waited for his breathing to resume a calm rhythm before turning his attention to the only picture decorating the entryway cabinet that did not appear to be part of the rented furniture of that house.

  
    It featured four happy people in a typically Christmas setting. And New Yorker, no doubt. Around a neat snowman were kneeling two adults and two small girls who differed only in size and hair color. While Tina, larger and short-haired, showed a half smile next to her father, her younger sister, with very blond and curly hair, smiled openly at her mother.

  
    It was a beautiful image and, although he knew it was sad, Newt smiled.

  
    The bedroom door opened again as Newt returned the frame to its original place. From it came the visibly flushed figure of Tina, who wore a black dress with sleeves that covered her cuffs and with a hem that stretched to mid-thighs, a transparent black pantyhose, boots, a small shoulder bag and a black jacket in hands.

  
    Newt, his chest warmed and his heart pounding in his throat, couldn't help but wonder how much Tina matched him. And he wasn't merely referring to clothes.

  
    She walked into the kitchen to turn off the lights and the fire in the stove before meeting Newt, a flush on her face that intensified with each step forward in that direction. A heady floral scent surrounded her body and filled Newt's thoughts, and he hoped his knees wouldn't weaken at any moment.

  
"You look beautiful" - he couldn't help saying. He felt his face burn hot, but he didn't look away from Tina's shy smile. "Ready?"

  
"Ready."

  
    With Newt's help, Tina put on her coat before leaving the house.

 

 

 

 

    The vehicle drifted, lonely, down a dark road. The brightness of the headlights made visible some relief shapes that bordered the asphalt. From time to time, it was possible to see small clumps of distant lights in the vast darkness. They were lightposts of the countless villages that enriched England with history and life.

  
    The interior of the car was as cozy as no other. The heater was on, some blue, yellow, and red lights on the panel were the only source of light, the melody of a quiet song played low on the radio, the mix between Newt and Tina's perfumes was all there was to breath.

  
    Tina closed her eyes to enjoy the moment, wishing that the pleasurable sensation that took her completely and that the night wouldn't come to an end.

  
"Are we getting close?"

  
"We are almost there."

  
    The low, hoarse timbre of Newt's voice reverberated through Tina's gut like the chill in the belly of someone about to fall off a roller coaster. It was more melodious than any song that the radio station struggled to broadcast.

  
    For that reason, Tina kept urging him to talk.

  
"How can I tell if you're not kidnapping me?" - she challenged with amusement. "How can I tell if this place is not a little house in the middle of nowhere, Mr. Scamander?"

  
"I would never do that, Tina" - Newt answered, serious. Tina suppressed a smile at that. "And we're getting close to Lacock, we'll take the first entrance on the right."

  
    Behind large trees bordering the highway, a city appeared to visitors' eyes, as small as all other villages. The houses, two stories lined with exposed brick, resembled those of Castle Combe. An arch of treetops marked its beginning, and the woman's eyes followed it during it's entire passage over the car. She felt like being in an old movie, steeped in a story told by each of those buildings.

  
"We'll have to park and walk downtown" - Newt announced as soon as the arch had been left behind. "The narrowest streets in the center of the city can't handle the passage of cars."

  
    Tina found no problem following Newt's instructions, and they walked the city on an unhurried walk, penetrating the uncrowded center of Lacock as if time had stood still.

  
    There was so much to see in those surroundings. Most homes housed both families and businesses, and when they did not contribute to the formation of cold air corridors, they protected pedestrians from the bustle of wind currents. Through the windowpanes that served as showcases, it was possible to see sweets, handmade spices and handmade tapestries that filled the eyes of those who observed them.

  
    Newt indicated a left turn and they came across a river whose banks considerably lowered the temperature of the night. There was a narrow bridge that crossed the surface of the dark water. Through it they went to the opposite bank, watching the wind churn the black waters beneath their feet. Considering the many enclosed establishments left behind along the way, Tina wondered if they had arrived too late in the small town. She said nothing, however, because Newt was safely guiding her along a path that seemed familiar to him.

  
    The city was empty, free of visitors. Newt and Tina had Lacock to themselves.

  
    Newt slowed his steps as they came into an open, deserted square littered with dark, wet, shiny floor tiles. A single source of light gleamed in the distance against the wall of a simple building. That seemed to be the final destination of their journey.

  
"We have arrived."

  
    With each new step in that direction, the silhouette of a small, very white tent stood out in the woman's eyes. First she identified the unmistakable shape of a parasol. Closer, the image of loaves of bread displayed in a small shop window became clear, and beside it several sausages continually rotated in a large silver machine.

  
"Hot dog!" - Tina celebrated, covering her lips with both hands to hide the perfect circle formed in her mouth.

  
    Awakened by the excitement of Tina, a small, white-haired gentleman with a friendly face stood on the other side of the booth counter. He smiled at the customers.

  
"It's a good time, kids. The sausages are just roasted."

  
"We'll want two, please" - Newt said.

  
    Tina was too happy to talk. She was smiling with her lip between her teeth, beaming like a child about to win a desired toy. Newt, by her side, laughed lightly, pleased by her behavior.

  
"I don't remember the last time I had a hot dog" - she confessed, still astonished.

  
"You never had a real hot dog, Tina. Just bread with sausage" - and, avoiding smiling with the woman's withering gaze, he went on. "This is a hot dog."

  
    With a hoarse laugh, the salesman turned to the pair, pouring spices on the bread and the stuffing.

  
"I have to agree with him" - he muttered playfully. He handed Tina the first hot dog with typical english chivalry.

  
    Tina no longer objected to the provocation, because perhaps Newt was right. The two halves of the bread were separated by various fillings and condiments she had never imagined to find in a hot dog. There were bacon, pickles, red onions, and other diced ingredients under ketchup and mustard zigzags. It looked delicious. She suppressed the urge to bite it until Newt could do the same.

  
    Newt handed the seller a bill more than enough to pay for orders and asked him to keep the change, not before facing a never-ending battle with Tina, who refused the idea of watching him spend money with herself. Having agreed that the two bottles of beer would be on her, Tina accompanied Newt on a tour in the small town.

  
"This is really great!" - she commented after the first bite.

  
"This is a family recipe. He and his wife came from Frankfurt, France, and have lived here since I was a baby."

  
    Tina, her mouth full, nodded at the new information.

  
"So this hot dog is _french"_ \- she raised an eyebrow in defiance, making him laugh.

  
"Yeah. You got me on this one."

  
    Newt closed his eyes as he felt a violent breeze stir his hair and cool his face. He was beginning to realize that it was not a pleasant feeling to have his fingers stiff and frozen around the body of the bottle, and he considered returning to the vehicle so that Tina could rest her drink on the dashboard and be protected from the wind before she caught a cold.

  
"Want to go back to the car? We can turn on the heater."

  
"No. I liked it here. It's good to be able to walk and not get glances from people" - Tina smiled, but soon her face became worried. "Do you want it? We can come back if you want."

  
"No" - he denied vehemently. "I know a place where we can sit."

  
    Turning the first corner to the right, Newt and Tina continued through three more intersections until they came across a street consisting of four or five houses scattered along its banks. There was a school just ahead, between a church and a wall full of ivy. In the light of the poles and the moonlight hanging over everything and everyone, it was as if they were in an abandoned western.

  
    Tina walked the sidewalk, certain that they would sit on the church stairs until she realized that Newt was not with her. She found him close to the ivy wall, peering through the leaves.

  
"It's here" - he indicated a flaw in the vegetation uniformity.

  
    Settling next to Newt, the woman finally realized that there was no wall. It was a hedge, as high as the wall of a house, hiding behind its full and bulging branches a wide open space.

  
    Newt pushed one of the branches aside, making the gap between the leaves so large as to allow an adult to pass. He caught the astonished look on Tina's face and laughed lightly.

  
"It's the school yard."

  
"And are we going in there?"

  
"No problem. It's safe."

  
"Are you sure we won't be arrested for trespassing?"

  
 "Do you trust me?"

  
    Tina stared at the lawn beyond the fence. There was something big lit up in the darkness. Something that, outside, she was unable to recognize. She sighed. She would be lying if she said she wasn't eager to have an adventure with Newt. She knew he would never put her at risk.

  
"You're such a zoologist" - she teased, shrugging her shoulders before flexing her trunk into the ground.

  
    The moonlight made the shapes of the growing trees visible. There were seesaws, swings and slides scattered everywhere between beds filled with tiny white and purple flowers. Majestically illuminated by two pairs of yellowed spotlights, a fountain stood in the center of the garden. On the concrete that it constituted Tina sat, unconcerned with the calm of the water that did not gush at that time of the night. The wind still blew against her hair, but she didn't care. She was feeling free, comfortable, and too safe to bother with anything.

  
    She had a feeling that the way she felt was directly related to Newt's presence.

  
"Have you studied here?" - that's what Tina wanted to know when he joined her.

  
"No. I always studied at Castle Combe."

  
"And how do you know about this place?"

  
    A nostalgic smile decorated Newt's features. He seemed to be being transported to another place. Or another time.

  
"When our parents visited Lacock's annual fair, Theseus, Leta and I used to escape the giant pumpkins and come here to play" - he paused, assessing the space around him. "I haven't been here in a long time. After growing up, the two of them started coming here alone to date."

  
    Tina had an involuntary affectionate smile on her face. She had vaguely followed the final part of the explanation as she concentrated on remembering the photographs resting on the fireplace in Newt's house. A lady with very red hair and a gray-haired man. Tina wondered about those two figures.

  
"Where are they?"

  
"My parents?" - Newt questioned and Tina nodded. "In Dorset. Both are retired and live in our family's beach house."

  
    Tina's smile widened at Newt's response. She imagined the couple sitting on the shore, their feet wet by ocean waves one late afternoon. The warmth and familiarity that held her chest made her want to know even more about those responsible for Newt's education.

  
"How are they like?"

  
"My father is a little reserved and suspicious at first. He acts to embarrass us so that, when we least expect it, he gives us a huge smile and pulls us into a hug" - Newt laughed, lifting the bottle to his lips and, after a little sip, he resumed his speech. "My mother is a warm person right away. She is affectionate, receptive, understanding and has a bigger heart than she thinks. And she always has a cookie sheet ready in her house to welcome us."

  
"Yeah... You're very much like her."

  
    Their low laughs mingled through the night. Newt looked at Tina from the corners of his eyes, wondering how she seemed to adopt a mystical pallor to the natural sky light. The ghost of a smile was on her lips, but her eyes were vague, lost.

  
    Newt thought he knew where her heart was.

  
"What about them? What were they like?"

  
    Tina let out a heavy sigh, looking down at her lap, and Newt considered regretting that question.

  
"Mom and Dad were very careful with me and Queenie. We were always together. Every day we would sit by the fire to read, after dinner. Queenie was very small and slept fast, so she was always close to Mom. I would sit close to Dad and pay close attention to the stories. I think everything was always like that during the eight years I lived with them."

  
    Tina felt that the vision might become even more blurred if she continued to unpacking long-kept memories. She wanted to share each one with Newt, and she knew she would, one day. But not in that one, because she didn't want to exchange that new and invigorating joy for her so familiar and well-known melancholy.

  
"All my memories of them are happy" - she concluded.

  
    Tina knew Newt was still watching her from the corners of his eyes, but she didn't look at him to see what was showing through his light irises. Maybe he was afraid she might collapse at any moment. Maybe he was thinking about how that subject made her the fragile little girl of many years ago, if only for a few moments.

  
    For that reason, Tina straightened her back and exhaled the air she kept in her lungs in the hope that it would renew her spirit. She looked around at the garden, taking in all the details she had noticed since their arrival, until she rested her eyes on Newt once more. She didn't find in those expressions regret, sadness or pity, however. There was something positive about the sparkle in his gaze, and if she could guess, she would say that the way his eyes seemed to smile quietly showed her admiration.

  
    She searched her mind for some topic to change the direction of that conversation, for she thought she would burst from blushing if her mind continued with those thoughts any longer.

  
"You must have brought a lot of girlfriends here" - was what she chose to say, hoping that the heavy atmosphere would dissipate.

  
    Newt didn't laugh as Tina expected him to, just smiled a shy smile. He crossed his suspended ankles, staring at his lap as he cleared his throat nervously, and she felt bad for exchanging her embarrassment for his.

  
    She was about to divert the conversation again when he spoke.

  
"I never had a girlfriend."

  
    Newt's embarrassment was palpable. He was paying attention to his thumbs to avoid knowing what Tina thought about it. Of course, Newt would never expect jokes or derogatory remarks from her, but he couldn't help worrying that such a confession would diminish his value to her.

  
    _If so many people had ever thought horrible things about Newt because of it, what assurance did he have that Tina wouldn't think, either?_

  
    Tina, in turn, breaking the shield bubble he had created around himself, laid a delicate hand on his.

  
"Is that a problem for you?"

  
"Well, maybe it is. A lot of people don't see with good eyes someone who was never in a relationship with someone else."

  
"To hell with other people, Newt. Is that a problem _for you?"_

  
    Newt was silent for a moment, trying to get to where Tina was leading him. She gave him a comfortable silence to speak, and when he felt ready, he did.

  
"No. I spent my whole life alone in my research, and I was so happy. Of course I loved Leta, but I always knew we would never be a couple. I cherished my feelings for her, admiring her, not really wishing something in return, you know?" - he felt a little less uncomfortable for not being judged by those confessions. "I just wanted to see her well with Theseus and that was enough for me than being matched."

  
    Tina gently squeezed Newt's hand in a gesture of understanding.

  
"I wouldn't expect anything more pure and naive from you" - she smiled affectionately. "You, like your mother, have a bigger heart than you think."

  
    Newt smiled, watching Tina's hand over his, and felt a warm sensation spread over his chest, the sense of familiarity and comfort that only her presence provided. He knew that he could talk without being judged, that he could confess without being criticized, that he could remain silent without being pressured.

  
    Being close to her, so close to the point of touching her, was like coming home after a long cold day.

  
"Do you know something, Tina?" - and he covered the woman's hand with his other. She didn't object to the cold skin of his palm. "Today, after all these years, I think that what I felt for Leta was a different love from what I, so small and innocent, imagined it to be. That was a purely _brotherly_ love. The same as I feel for Theseus, the same as I still feel for Leta."

  
    Tina stared at him calmly.

  
"What makes you think that?"

  
    _Confess without being criticized..._

  
_"You."_

  
    The word escaped Newt's lips so easily that he had a feeling he had waited all his life to say it there, at that moment. He wanted to blame the alcohol, but he was sure that the overwhelming realization that had hit him like a blast, shaking his structures, could be said on any occasion.

  
    Tina's eyes, wide, warm, expectant, glazed into his, hungry for a little more of that explanation, gave him the courage to go on.

  
"Because it's impossible to feel all the things I feel for you without wanting to be matched."

  
    And, instantly, it was as if Tina was falling from the clouds.

  
    The blue expanse of Newt's eyes turned toward her was like being face to face with the sky. It warmed her, it burned her, it was all Tina could see.

  
    Everything around her became a blur.

  
    There was no floor under her feet.

  
"What do you feel for me?" - Tina's weak, small voice silenced Newt's words.

  
    He knew he could not describe it.

  
    Not knowing what to do, hoping that the gesture could speak in its place, he directed the woman's hand to the left side of his chest, where his heart thudded violently under his skin, as if wanting to touch her.

  
    And hers, drumming in her ears, thudded as often.

  
    Newt stared at her with apprehensive eyes, fearing that he might have talked too much, had shattered that strange connection between them. He feared to be the heaviest side of the seesaw and hit the ground once more.

  
    The involuntary smile on Tina's face ended that torture like the sun blazing its way through rain clouds.

  
    Tina slid her delicate fingers to Newt's chin, oblivious to the fact that she left behind a trail of goose bumps that also made him fall from the clouds. Reaching him, bringing him close as if their lives depended on it, Tina felt the need to vocalize the obvious.

  
    She felt the need to _scream_ the obvious to anyone who would listen.

  
_"I feel it, too."_

  
    And their lips collided in the most delicate of explosions.

  
    The perfect fit. Lips, arms, touches, sensations.

  
    Saying nothing, Newt and Tina seemed to say it all. Saying nothing, Newt and Tina seemed to say everything they didn't even knew they were desperate to say. In a calm and desperate conversation, their silence gave way to the voices of their hearts.

  
    But there was much to be felt at that moment to spare reflection. There was the tug of Tina's fingers between Newt's hair. There was the gentle, careful sliding of Newt's palms over the sides of Tina's face. There was the soft brush of their forgotten fingers on the concrete of the fountain. There was the rhythmic echo of their beats in all directions.

  
    They remained in that simple kiss for several seconds, perhaps for several minutes, without any mention of interrupting it. That was a unique experience, ecstatic, too addictive not to be enjoyed. Only when Tina and Newt were smiling against each other's lips did they realize they needed to breathe. Doped with the addictive sensation of their touch, they dared not move away for a single moment. They stood with their foreheads joined together and their noses brushed as their breaths became one.

  
"That's good" - Newt whispered, still with his eyes closed.

  
    Tina didn't need to know exactly what he meant to silently agree with his statement.

  
"Want to know what's even better?"

  
    Tina pulled back a few inches to meet his eyes. The tingling in her stomach grew bigger when Newt's light irises were all she could see. Exactly for that reason, Tina realized that was the best distance to admire them.

  
    Her fingers traced each of the freckles scattered across the tanned skin, skirted the structure of his nose, paced the mandibular way, and returned, down his chin, toward his lips.

  
    Soft and warm, decorated by countless bronze spots, under the touch of her fingers. They made Newt and Tina revel in the shock between the heat of their breasts and the cold of their stomachs.

  
"This."

  
    Inviting, they welcomed Tina's hungry lips a second time, giving way to both of them to lose themselves in the new depth of that kiss.

 

 

 

 

"How was the conversation with Eberdith?" - Tina remembered. "She signed the paperwork?"

  
"No" - Newt pursed his lips laterally in resignation. "Anna said she wasn't feeling well to receive visitors. She also said she's been sick for days."

  
    Tina let her eyes rest on Newt's hands on the steering wheel, allowing her mind to wander for a moment.

  
"Too bad" - she muttered at last. "She's very sweet. I think everything must affect her more than we can imagine."

  
"I've hardly seen her since Mr. Graves' death, but she's a very helpful person. I find it odd that it's taking so long to sort this out..." - Newt sighed heavily before continuing. "Sometimes I get the feeling that she might not really want to sign the paperwork."

  
"It's a hypothesis, but I don't understand why. The mansion is the only property that doesn't come from illegal money. It was a family heirloom, wasn't it? I understand she doesn't want to be involved with everything that will be pledged, but why not the mansion? She's the last living heir of the Graves. It's her right."

  
    Newt, shifting gears, muttered in agreement.

  
    They had left Lacock a few minutes before, when the temperature became a greater challenge than their coats and caresses could handle. But the bitter cold wind was not a villain at all for Newt and Tina's unexpectedly romantic night. Because of it the couple had returned holding hands in an adolescent attempt to keep each other warm all the way to the vehicle.

  
    Once again, Tina let the atmosphere created by the heater, the lights of the panel and Newt's delicious scent lift her thoughts to a nicer place. She felt looser and more relaxed than during the first trip, and she found the beer bottle and Newt's kisses equally guilty.

  
    Tina smiled at the memory.

  
    Newt's kiss matched his personality like no other she had ever experienced. It was light. Soft. Kind. Innocent. Perhaps a little insecure, but for her such a feature had only made the experience even more valuable.

  
    She assessed him from the corners of her eyes. The fingers around the steering wheel. The arms slightly bent. Back up, against the seat cushion. The eyes fixed on the world in front of them. The discreet smile on his lips knowing he was being watched.

  
"What?"

  
"Did you really borrow Theseus's car just to take me out?"

  
    The answer was obvious. Tina had only asked the question because she knew he would blush.

  
"It was pretty hard, believe me. He really embarrassed me, but he gave in, as you can see."

  
"He must be preparing several awkward questions to ask tomorrow."

  
"If he doesn't ask them today..."

  
    Tina laughed, and then Newt followed her. Castle Combe's entrance was beginning to be visible in the glow of the headlights. The image of the small bridge across the city river made the smile still attached to the woman's lips a little smaller.

  
    She and Newt had dictated rules about public displays of affection within city limits because of the possibility that they were being watched. It annoyed them more every inch closer to Tina's house. It was no fun to give up the desire to kiss the lips or hold someone's hands in exchange for their own safety. The thought made Tina think of Oliver and Benjamin and the smile completely faded from her lips.

  
"We have arrived" - Newt announced for the second time, that night.

  
"Do you want to come in?"

  
    Tina looked hopeful and Newt flinched. Everything inside him answered the question by saying that he did want to come into her house. But what would happen if he did? Would they be able to overcome the growing desire to have a little more of each other with each new caress experienced?

  
    A little voice in his mind warned him of the good manners of a courtship. It was too early.

  
"I need to give back Theseus's car."

  
"Oh, yes" - Tina muttered, hiding the disappointment in her soft tone. "I think this is goodbye, then."

  
    They looked at each other for a moment, saying a lot through that gesture. Tina took one of Newt's hands between hers and caressed it with her thumbs, as she never realized she wanted to do, and he smiled at their joined hands, wondering how a simple gesture could make him feel as alive and awake as ever.

  
    He didn't even remember that he had slept no more than two hours that morning, and that he would still have long hours on guard to keep. He didn't care. He was refreshed. New. Ready to start it all over again.

  
    Tina moved closer to place a simple, light kiss on Newt's cheek, delighted to be comfortable having him so close. He blushed and closed his eyes, his eyelids remaining closed as the woman moved away. He didn't want her to know how much he wanted to kiss her again.

  
    He couldn't see her watching him so closely, couldn't even catch a glimpse of the expression on her face that said how beautiful she thought he was, how much he made her feel important, delicate, loved. He couldn't see the heat that dominated Tina's chest spill over her lips in an affectionate smile.

  
_"Damn it, Newt!"_

  
    It was all she said before taking his face in her hands and flipping against his soft lips once more.

  
    But that had been a quick kiss. She escaped him before his soft touch silently asked her to leave the rules set in Lacock behind. With a playful, mischievous smile on her lips, she left the car and headed for the door of her residence, disappearing through it with a wave of her hands.

  
    When he realized that she would no longer return, Newt rested the back of his head against the seat to digest all recent events.

  
_Newt Scamander had kissed Tina Goldstein._

  
    He closed his eyes to review the memories of her being so cheerful, so close, so alive, decorated throughout that night. He exhaled the long-held air in his lungs and welcomed the smile on his lips that would keep him company from that moment on.

 

 

 

 

    The way from Theseus's house to Tina's had been longer than expected. As the presence of the woman's lips transported him to paradise, their absence made everywhere around him a torturous place. Newt was sure it would be hard to get used to being alone again after experiencing the sensation of having her in his arms.

  
    He made the same journey of the night before, and settled himself between the wooden bench and the small lamppost that should illuminate it. That time, however, he had not abandoned his cell phone at home and was carefully stowing it in his robe, along with the revolver.

  
    Newt then turned his attention to the large window, where lights off of the kitchen and living room highlighted the brightness of the lamp beside the sofa. On the upholstery, lying under the yellow light of the lamp, Tina serenely read a book. The mere sight of the woman was enough for him to want and be in touch with her. Newt thought he was addicted.

  
    Without blinking, he pulled the cell phone out of his inner pocket. He dialed the number already decorated and watched Tina wince slightly before taking her own handset. A smile reached her eyes as they recognized the illuminated name on the display.

  
"Hello, Newt."

  
"Hello, Tina" - and he almost laughed as he considered the strangeness of that circumstance.

  
"Is everything okay? Why are you calling me?"

  
    There was not much concern in the woman's tone of voice, and he thought that perhaps she already knew the answer to that question.

  
"I can't stop thinking about you."

  
    And Tina, smiling openly and quietly at that statement, squeezed her eyes shut.

  
    That would be a long call. At least Newt hoped so.


	16. Between the lines.

The little box laid, forgotten, on the mattress of the bed. In its surroundings, scattered and unimportant, various papers gleamed in the dim light of the room, as much as the one carefully taken by the woman's thin and delicate fingers.

  
    The house was silent, empty, filled only by the occasional exhalation of its resident, and that paper remained in her hands, even when its contents were already completely decorated by her. Her thoughts seemed to float in the muffled atmosphere of the room, through the cracks in the open shutter.

  
    Fifty-two days. The number repeated in her mind like the ticking of the bedside clock. And, in the next day, it would be fifty-three. Her silence and hesitation were already beginning to be noticed. Maybe it was time for her to tell the truth.

  
    The sound of the doorbell echoed through the silent furnishings, rousing her from her pondering with a small start. She quickly returned the papers to the inside of the box, being careful to hide the most important one among the rest.

  
    She needed to tell him. He couldn't know otherwise.

  
    She watched her reflection in the large mirror of the bedroom. The small stature raised on low heels. The black skin that slowly regained its natural flush. The perfect alignment of her favorite dress to enhance all her curves. The discreet smile that slowly appeared on her lips.

  
    The doorbell rang again and she hurried downstairs to cross the short hallway toward the door. Theseus should've left the keys behind, she thought, for she wasn't used to receiving visitors in the afternoons.

  
    But it wasn't Theseus who stood perfectly in the center of the door frame.

  
"Leta" - and there was a genuine but extremely wobbly smile in the company of that word.

  
_"Eber?"_

  
    Leta blinked a few times to get used to the sunlight, which swallowed the small figure completely, and to make sure that her instincts didn't fool her into an illusion.

  
    The woman was indeed there, her large Latin eyes hesitating with her red lips.

  
    She was definitely paler, thinner and sadder than she remembered, but she was still undoubtedly Eberdith. Leta's best friend.

  
"I'll understand perfectly if you tell me to leave, but I really wish I could talk to you again."

  
    And a second was enough for Leta's hurts to be swept away by the wind. In the next second, Eberdith was in her arms, rocked by murmurs of relief and joy.

  
"I missed you so much..." - Leta whispered in a choked voice, her lips pressed into Eberdith's dark hair.

  
    It still smelled of green apple. The innocent smell of green apple.

  
"Me too, my sister" - Eberdith's voice was less than a breath. Leta knew that, behind that whisper, she also hid a huge urge to cry.

  
"How are you?" - Leta reluctantly moved away to close the door of the house. "Anna told me worrying things about you the last time we met."

  
    There was a silence filled with sighs. Eberdith seemed to choose the most delicate words to assuage Leta's fears.

  
"I'm trying to get better" - and she was frank. "But everything has been much harder than I expected."

  
    Leta recognized that, at that moment, that was all Eberdith had to say, and decided not to invade her privacy further. She indicated the kitchen with a silent nod. Eberdith agreed with the same gesture.

  
"Did you come alone? I didn't see any signs of John out there."

  
"He's out of town, as usual. But it's better this way" - she drummed her fingers on the kitchen doorjamb, sounding casual. "No one but Anna knows I'm here."

  
"He was at the mansion yesterday" - Leta commented, wiggling at the kitchen counter to prepare a refreshing drink.

  
    She watched Eberdith over her shoulder as the woman sat on one of the table chairs. The pain and the sadness simply wouldn't leave those brown irises, and Leta had a feeling that she could experience what was going through her friend's mind.

  
"Theseus" - she explained, as if necessary. "He wanted you to sign the inheritance of the mansion and the cottage. Anna said you were sick."

  
"I couldn't welcome them, Leta."

  
"I know" - she murmured softly. "But how long do you intend to postpone this meeting?"

  
    Eberdith could read between the lines of that question.

  
"I don't know" - and she was frank once again. "I'm being pressured to do what I don't want again."

  
    And Leta could read between the lines of that answer.

  
    She felt a sharp pain stabbing her stomach.

  
"Eberdith..."

  
"It's different now" - she said quickly, but her friend was already sitting beside her.

  
"You are suffering."

  
"It's different now. You know it's different."

  
_"It's worse than before!"_

  
    There was no reply to that finding. Eberdith didn't know if contradicting those words would mean telling the truth.

  
    Everything was bad enough. From a long time ago.

  
    A long silence felt between the women.

  
"Why did _he_ do that to me, Leta?"

  
"He didn't know..."

  
"He knew from the start."

  
"He wanted the same as you. Neither of you is to blame, you know that."

  
    Leta knew she had chosen the wrong direction for that conversation the first instant after the words left her mouth. Two heavy tears rolled down Eberdith's cheeks.

  
"What did I become? Who am I, Leta?"

  
    That was a rhetorical question, set free in a moment of pure and genuine despair.

  
    Leta had a feeling it wasn't the first time Eberdith had truly sought an answer for it.

  
    For that reason, the french woman welcomed her friend in another comforting hug.

  
"You are Eberdith Solén" - she whispered against her dark hair. "And you know what you need to do."

  
    Amid involuntary sobs that ached in her chest, Eberdith fed her pathological confusion.

  
    _You know what you need to do._

  
    There was only one thing Eberdith knew she needed to do.

  
    She wasn't sure about anything else.

  
    Then she pressed her wet eyes shut until she regained sufficient control of her emotions.

  
"You're right" - and showed her friend a sad smile.

  
    For Leta, that sketch of relief was better than nothing.

  
    They remained in a regenerating smile that could have lasted days. They just held it to each other and touched their fingers in simple caresses.

  
"But what about you, Leta? How are you? I looked for you at the bank today, but they said you had medical license."

  
"I took a few days off because I've been a little sick recently, and I went to the doctor for exams."

  
"And everything is fine?"

  
    The sensation was that a steaming, sweet liquid bubbled inside Leta's veins. She thought she might explode right there, on the verge of finally telling someone what she'd been waiting for days to say.

  
    Eberdith. Her best and confidant friend. She was the right person to know.

  
"I'm pregnant, Eber."

  
    And as the words settled deep within her, Eberdith laughed. She laughed like she hadn't done a decade ago. She laughed like the seventeen-year-old girl who was laughing with her best friend on some Castle Combe sidewalk.

  
"A baby!" - Eberdith was amazed. "Am I going to be an aunt?"

  
"You're going to be a godmother, silly!"

  
    And they laughed again, their eyes filled with tears of joy and hope.

  
    It was good to cry for those reasons.

  
    Leta let Eberdith touch her belly.

"Leta, this is wonderful! How long ago?"

  
"Fifty-two days. I had an ultrasound. And I heard the heart, Eber, beating so fast!"

  
"And the sex?"

  
"I don't know yet."

  
    The two women shared the same complicit smile from years before.

  
"I hope it's a girl, then we can tie those huge French ties in her hair" - said Eberdith, dreamily.

  
    Leta kept the affectionate smile on her features for a few more moments before she felt it falter discreetly.

  
"I haven't told Theseus yet."

  
"And why not?"

  
    Leta had fervently hoped that her friend wouldn't ask that question. She bit her lower lip nervously for a long time before answering.

  
"I don't know what he'll think, you know? I mean, a child is a very big responsibility. I'm afraid... Well, I'm afraid he won't-"

  
"Accept the pregnancy" - Eberdith completed, understanding hitting her like a wave.

  
    The smile on Eberdith's full lips faded unconsciously.

  
"Leta, this is Theseus we are talking about. Of course he will want to have this child, of course he will love it and he will be as happy as you with this news."

  
    Leta stared at her lap.

  
"Not only that, Eber. I'm afraid I'm not a good mother either. It's all very new to me."

  
    Eberdith reached for her friend's hands to give them a gentle squeeze.

  
"I'm sure you'll be a great mom."

  
    Leta smiled at their joined hands. She was very happy but, at that moment, she realized that she also felt a small, almost imperceptible twinge of sadness in her chest. 

  
    Sadness to know that she couldn't share that same happiness with her friend.

  
"You can still be a great mom, Eber..."

  
    It took Eberdith a long time to see the meaning behind those words, or she pretended to herself that she didn't immediately understand it. She fought an entire battle not to retract her hands and let her shoulders make her elegant posture plummet again. Or so that the painful tightness in her chest wasn't reflected in her face.

  
"You know I can't..."

  
    But Eberdith had lost that battle. And she became a jumble of shadows, disappointments, regrets and worries in front of the person who better knew her all over the world.

  
    Leta said nothing, however, because she decided that her friend's unexpected visit could yield much more than tears for their friendship. And, making sure one last time that all the finer things could finally be buried under a lighter atmosphere in that kitchen, she rose to offer Eberdith a sweet drink.

 

 

 

 

    There she was, as usual: lying lazily on the living room couch, a book in hand, her feet softly brushing the carpet to the floor.

  
    In the dim light provided by the bedside lamp, the image of the woman concentrated on her reading was magical in the eyes of her observer, and he was unable to turn his eyes to any other detail of that scene.

  
    Behind the wooden bench, Newt shrank to minimize the involuntary tremors caused by the wind of that night. The sky was thick with heavy clouds over his head and it wouldn't be long before it began to rain, but he would never consider abandoning his vigil.

  
    He pressed his belongings against his body as if to keep them from being carried by the wind. He had been distracted, like every day before, by the small notebook of his manuscript and his cell phone, as well as the weapon he hoped he would never use.

  
    Tina turned the page of her novel, those were the last lines of that chapter, and sighed, listening vaguely to the wind dragging dry leaves outside her house. At another time, on such a rainy and cozy night as that one, she might have been better enjoying the plot of that book, delving deep into the medieval scenarios and castles clearly described by the author, but the sensations of dislocation, loneliness, and insecurity made such descriptions just disconnected words piled up in one or two paragraphs.

  
    She sighed again, shifting her position to one sitting on the couch so that the closed book was set aside. She wondered if Newt was waiting for one more of their calls, somewhere in that city, as she expected to see his name flash on her own display at any moment. 

  
    By the time she found her phone hidden between the pilows of her sofa, however, Newt's name was already on the screen. British punctuality...

  
"You're two minutes late, Miss Goldstein" - he teased to see her roll her eyes, but Tina smiled broadly.

  
"I have more important things to do than calling you, Mr. Scamander."

  
"Waiting to answer my call on the first ring is among them?"

  
    Newt smiled as he watched her laugh, and after a millisecond delay, laughter filled his ears, warming him more than his own robes.

  
"What are you doing?"

  
"Talking to you" - he replied and she rolled her eyes. "What about you?"

  
"Besides that!" - she scolded but still smiled. "I just finished another chapter of the book I'm reading. It's not long before the end, now."

  
"I also finished another chapter of my book today."

  
"Yes. And I can't wait to read it" - Tina hugged her knees to her body, biting her lips absently.

  
    A draft flowed cold and strong through the outside of Tina's house. It ruffled Newt's hair and swirled the leaves in the air, taking with it any sketch of response he might have formulated.

  
"Aren't you at home?" - the woman frowned at the windy noise at his device.

  
"I'm picking anise in my backyard to make some tea" - Newt fired the first thought that ran through his mind.

  
    Tina didn't seem to notice the failure in that voice.

  
"You're too English for your own good, Scamander. You better be sheltered before this rain starts."

  
    Newt, in an unconscious gesture, turned his eyes to the sky, where silent lightning illuminated the gray clouds of that dark ocean. He shrank further under his robes, swallowing hard. But wasn't willing to go anywhere.

  
"Newt?" - Tina called, uncertainly, after the long seconds of silence.

  
"I'm here, Tina."

  
    And it was her turn to remain in hesitant silence for long seconds.

  
"I had a good dream last night."

  
"That's great. And how did it go?"

  
    Newt turned his eyes to the woman again, and was surprised to find her standing, absently strumming the lamp beside her sofa. She had a restrained, almost insecure expression on her face.

  
"I dreamed I was sitting on a very green lawn on a warm late afternoon, watching a beautiful sunset. I was quiet, free, in peace like never before. But I've had this dream before, when I was a kid, and Queenie was with me "- she smiled, nostalgic. "This time, it was you who was by my side."

  
    Newt blinked at the woman's image a few times, watching her hug her own body. He didn't need to see clearly to know she had a slight flush on her face, the same one that was starting to burn on his own.

  
    Thunder roared in the sky and the pair startled. Newt felt the first raindrops fall thinly on his coat, but cared little. He was still bound by the confession shared by Tina and was looking very hard for something delicate to say.

  
    Tina put a hand to her chest, her heart racing against her ribs. Whether the reason for the phenomenon had been the shrill noise or the adrenaline in her veins for sharing with him something so personal, she couldn't tell. Then, without much awareness that she was doing so, she strolled absently to the glass door, searching for the unnecessary confirmation that it was starting to rain.

  
"I just hope it's a good omen..." - she sighed.

  
    In a blast, a flash of light illuminated the low, wet lawn of the outskirts of that house as Tina opened the curtain that covered the glass door of her living room. Newt could only widen his eyes at the figure through the door as she surveyed the dark sky that night, still oblivious to his presence. He swallowed his own breath audibly.

  
    Still unaware that they were being watched so closely, brown eyes dropped, without pretense, to the exact space between the lamppost and the wooden bench.

  
    And that was the reason for a low scream echoing through the night.

  
    Tina's cell phone slipped through her still hands and crashed into the ground. Lost in intense dread, the woman took a few seconds to recognize who belonged to the pair of clear eyes that stared at her, wide and as frightened as her own. 

  
     In a second he was standing, his hands raised in surrender.

  
    Newt and Tina stared at each other for a moment longer, feeling their heartbeats pound painfully before the woman turned the key in the door to open it.

  
"What are you doing out here?" - she asked, exasperated, watching Newt's wet robes.

  
"Tina, I can explain..."

  
"You told me right now you were in your house!"

  
    Newt stepped back as she walked determinedly toward him.

  
"Tina, I..."

  
"What are you doing out here?" - and she repeated the question, even more exasperated.

  
"I'm making sure you're all right, Tina" - he stammered and, seeing the woman's frown in anger and confusion, hastened to improve his explanation. "I'm watching your house at dawn."

  
"What?"

  
   With shaking hands, he searched for the revolver hidden in his robes.

  
"I couldn't stay home thinking something might happen to you. I thought staying out here overnight was a good way to comply with your request without leaving you unprotected."

  
    Tina blinked repeatedly at the gun in his hands. Her mouth remained ajar for several moments without actually making a sound.

  
"Newt, this is..." - Tina rubbed her eyes involuntarily, with visible difficulty on keeping up with all that new information. "Since when?"

  
"From the day after the invasion of your house."

  
    The woman's eyes flashed behind her knuckles. She watched, more closely than ever, the heavy dark specks he carried under his eyes, the weary look of his features, from the day before.

  
    Everything was starting to make sense.

  
"You're telling me you've been standing outside my house in cold, sleepless nights just to make sure nothing's going to happen to me?"

  
"Tina, that was the least I could do after all you-"

  
"Are you crazy?"

  
    Newt watched Tina's dark hair tangle together in response to the damp rain. There were so many things he wanted to say, things that seemed to be thrusting through his throat. But at that moment, overwhelmed with absurd embarrassment and fear, he was too coward to do so. He hoped he hadn't put it all between him and Tina to lose.

  
    Beside his feet laid the mobile device forgotten among the grass, slipped by his hands at the apex of his surprise. He bent to pick it up, his hands shaking as much as his knees. 

  
    Tina followed his every move, and was surprised to see him extend the gun to her over his wet, wobbly palm.

  
"If I can't stay here, I want to make sure you have something to defend yourself, no matter how terrible it sounds." - he swallowed hard the lump in his throat. "You're right, Tina. I'm sorry, I had no right to break into your house that way."

  
"What are you doing?"

  
    Unable to meet her eyes, Newt marched back down the corridor toward the low wall through which he had entered. He had ruined everything, he knew that. And he wished, more than anything in the world, to reach the first corner before collapsing.

  
"Where do you think you are going?" - Tina hurried to catch up with him on her first steps.

  
"Home."

  
"Are you really leaving after all this?" - she asked, indignantly.

  
"What do you expect me to do, then?" - he spatted his words, hurt, turning to face the woman's bleak expressions.

  
    Newt's eyes held an explicit resentment that could crush Tina's heart into a thousand pieces. Nothing in that face matched his ever-sweet features. And it shouldn't, she thought. Newt was too good to experience any bitterness.

  
    Momentarily forgotten by the pair, the rain fell gracefully on them as Tina listened to her silent hesitations. Feeling unable to contain her impulses for even a second longer, the woman hurried forward two steps to take Newt's parted lips with hers.

  
    Of all the things he expected her to do at that moment, kissing him was certainly the last of them. For that very reason, however, Newt completely forgot about the thunder that still broke his ears and the cold water that flowed into his robes. All that mattered in that brief moment, for him and her, was the unique sensation of hot lips pressed against each other in the fulfillment of their insatiable desires.

  
    Tina broke away from Newt before his hands could rest gently on her waist, or before either of them could deepen that kiss. She opened her eyes only to see him hiss discreetly, his eyelids still closed.

  
"What do I expect you do? _I expect you to kiss me again"_ \- Tina whispered her confession and Newt finally opened his eyes. "Please, kiss me again."

  
    Newt only realized that he was smiling when the woman's anguished expressions gave way to a small, shy smile. Nothing could compare to the pleasant tingle that filled his guts to remind him that none of that was a figment of his imagination.

  
    Tina had kissed him. Tina had kissed him and, at that moment, she expected him to kiss her again.

  
    Without delaying the request for a second longer, Newt finally rested his hands on Tina's back, bringing her slender, softly trembling body to his, to seal their lips firmly and gently in yet another urgent kiss.

  
    Newt removed a strand of wet hair from Tina's face to gently tuck it behind her ear and realized they were soaked. Still ecstatic, he smiled against her lips and, taken by that same sensation, she did the same. They delighted in the subtle brush of their noses and the electrifying shiver that ran through each end of their bodies, but they were startled to hear the roar of yet another thunder in the sky.

  
"And I expect we don't catch a cold, too" - Tina mimed a frown just to hear him laugh.

  
    She led him by the hand, through the glass door, so that they were safe in her living room. 

  
    They blushed intensely and didn't know if the tremors that reached their fingertips were at all attributed to the soaked garments they carried. Newt stood motionless by the door as her fingers broke from his own, and watched her swift walk disappear into one of the doors into the short hallway.

  
    Heart pounding in his ears, he absently touched the place where the ghost of the woman's lips gave him delicious tingling, and couldn't contain an involuntary smile.

  
    She returned to the living room with two blue bathrobes in her hands, a scarlet red hue over the usual paleness of her cheeks and that same unassuming smile still coloring her lips. She handed one of the cotton garments to Newt and risked him a quick glance.

  
"I turned on the heater, but we can't have those wet clothes on if we don't want to experience hypothermia. Your pajamas fit me well, so I guess size won't be a problem."

  
"Thank you" - he accepted, completely astonished, Tina's robe.

  
"You can use the bathroom to change, it's the door down the right."

  
    Newt disappeared behind the wooden door, leaving Tina with her own thoughts. She bit her bottom lip to suppress an exaggerated smile, still feeling butterflies tickling at her stomach, and sighed in contentment. She didn't remember when she had last experienced that sensation.

  
    He had been on guard to make sure of her safety. That was so much more than she could expect. He was so much more than she could expect.

  
    Shaking those thoughts away, Tina removed the wet ensemble from her pajamas and put on her robe, making sure the garment covered the full length of skin down to her knees. As she deposited her wet pajamas in her tumble dryer, she remembered a box of oolong tea she kept at the back of her kitchen cabinet and thought it was a good time to use it.

  
"Tina?" - Newt called uncertainly, propped against the kitchen door.

  
    He had a very intense flush on his face as the woman's eyes turned toward him, and he clutched at the wet garments. Newt tried not to reciprocate the young american's remarks for long, nor to think about how perfectly the cotton garment fit all her curves.

  
    Tina also looked away quickly, afraid that she might cause him too much discomfort.

  
"It really fit you" - she smiled, busy filling a teapot with water to bring to the stove. "You can put the clothes in my dryer there in the laundry area. They'll be dried soon."

  
    It was not long before the man approached cautiously to watch the activities performed by the woman. She placed a sachet on each of the two cups on the kitchen counter and smiled when she realized she was being watched.

  
"Do you like oolong tea?"

  
"It's been a while since I last prepared one."

  
"It's my favorite. It's as bitter as coffee."

  
    From the corners of her eyes, Tina saw Newt frown at her statement and laughed lightly. As she waited for the water to boil, she remembered some questions that had crossed her mind for the past few minutes and propped her hips on the counter.

  
"Could you see me from outside?"

  
"I could see you only while you were in the living room."

  
"Even with the curtain?"

  
    Newt didn't have to nod for Tina to know that, yes, that fragile flower curtain material had a more aesthetic utility than anything else.

  
"Everything was sharp enough when the light was on."

  
"And you..." - Tina cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks flush. "What exactly did you see?"

  
    Newt shrugged slightly, struggling to keep that glowing blush from reaching his own cheeks.

  
"Nothing much. I mean... I saw you reading the book, working, eating dinner, talking to me on the phone. Nothing but that. I swear."

  
    Talking to him on the phone. Tina felt that uncomfortable scarlet hue spread over her arms and neck. Had he seen all the dozens of her smiles just by hearing him on the other end of the line? Had he seen her desperation to answer his call that very night?

  
    Masterfully, Tina did her best to alter the topic of that conversation without showing nervousness.

  
"So you didn't answer my call the first day because you were in my backyard, not because you worked all night?" - she questioned and Newt stared at his feet in embarrassment.

  
"Yes, Tina..."

  
"And you calling me today, just as I was going to do the same, wasn't it just a coincidence?"

  
"No, Tina..."

  
    Feeling a little braver than before, Tina dragged one of the cups in Newt's direction and leaned sideways against the counter to look at him.

  
"I have much to thank, Newt, for all that you have done for me. But just imagining you in the open night, going cold for me..." - Tina sighed. "Why didn't you tell me what you planned to do? You could have been inside with me, safe, comfortable and warm from the first day, without having to sit outside for an overnight."

  
"I would never wish to disturb you at your home, Tina."

  
"Why would you bother me?" - she looked offended. "I like having your company. And I like you, Newt."

  
    Lowering his shy eyes to his bare feet, Newt wondered how such simple words held the power to explode such intense sensations in his chest.

  
"Thanks, Tina. I like you a lot, too."

  
    Heart pounding in her ears, Tina flashed an involuntary smile. And in that moment, anesthetized by the dose of adrenaline coursing eagerly through every part of her body to make her feel alive, watching Newt's clear irises coming closer, Tina swore nothing in the world could do her any harm.

  
"And I'll always hope you to kiss me again, you know..." - she whispered, close enough that her words bounced off Newt's parted lips.

  
    Lost in a small, cheerful smile, they covered Tina's gently before allowing them to find the imminent meeting of their tongues.

  
    Neither of them knew that they longed for that moment until its arrival. Neither of them knew that they wanted that feeling so much until they felt their lips moving against each other in an endless dance. It all seemed so right, so safe, so calm, as if no storm came against Castle Combe, as if no threat ran invisibly through the narrow streets of that city. They were just Newt and Tina in a warm, soft world. A world created within that embrace.

  
    Tina was the first to let the shiver down her back take control of her actions. Her hands slid, on their own, through the cotton over the man's chest and she sighed as her waist was wrapped by his arm so that their bodies were glued together again, as she thought they should be.

  
    There were no words in her vocabulary that described the feeling of being lost in Newt's arms, nor the addictive tingle left on her lips with each new moment of that kiss. There was nothing like the sensation of having her hair ruffled by twirling fingers, nothing like having his arm wrapped around her waist in silent and desperate invitations, nothing like stifling hoarse grunts, released deep in their throats, in response to that proximity.

  
    They wouldn't need many more experiences to be sure that they were the perfect match, because those were Tina and Newt, the woman and man they worshiped more every day, and they wouldn't want anyone else.

  
    They hoped that moment would never come to an end.

  
    But as Tina urged herself to sit on the surface of the bench, striving more than anything to wrap her legs around Newt's waist, the incessant hiss of boiling water echoed vaguely in her ears. She felt the reluctant absence of his lips against hers soon after.

  
"The water..." - he murmured, panting, and Tina finally opened her eyes.

  
    The red hue on Newt's face hid his freckles and spread across his neck and chest as far as Tina could see. His swollen, slightly parted lips let out a series of soft exhales and made the woman want to bring them to her again. Tina had never seen him looking so handsome, and she would have continued her pondering if he hadn't called her name.

  
"Tina, the water."

  
_Water._

  
_Kettle._

  
_Tea._

  
    And then she was back to reality.

  
"Ah, yes..."

  
    The woman hurried over to the stove, stumbling and bumping, taking the pot back to the counter, where Newt was waiting with both cups in hand. She led the way to the door, out of the kitchen, and pondered the sofa of the living room.

  
    She indicated the empty space on her left, between some seat cushions, for Newt to accompany her. She poured the hot water into both porcelain pieces and brought the dark, steaming liquid from her own mug to her lips, leaning contentedly and comfortably against the soft and warm material of her upholstery.

  
"How was work today?" - Newt spoke up. "Any news on the investigations?"

  
"We began a detailed survey of the open field adjacent to the railroad tracks, but we found nothing revealing. The rain that has fallen on Castle Combe since the burglary seems to have greatly changed the conditions of the terrain."

  
    Tina pulled the corner of her lips in resignation. They would have to think of another way to find evidence about that crime.

  
"How about you? How was work?" - she sipped some more of her tea.

  
"Ah, the same as always. Cleaning the stables. Feeding. But tomorrow is bath day for Zouwu and Frank, and I intend to take Philipe with me."

  
    A smile lit each of those two faces at the mention of the little boy.

  
"Does he really like horses?"

  
"He's in love with them. Can't wait for them to have a puppy" - Newt hid a smile behind the mug that raised to his lips. Tina, by his side, didn't suppress a sweet laugh.

  
"He's a special child, isn't he?"

  
"Very. I try to let him know that every day."

  
     In the yellow light of the lamp, mixed with the light of the kitchen that seeped through the open door into the living room, Newt looked like a painting in Tina's eyes. He watched the sky through the glass with vague interest, his robe leaving more exposed skin than before, probably from the constant strokes of her hands. A constellation of freckles and specks crept down his neck to spread across his chest and, right above where the robe met, a large red scar faded from sight through the bluish material. Tina might have thought about it, but her attentions were still clung to Newt's words.

  
    She, more than anyone in the world, could tell the importance of feeling and being treated like someone special when you have so little in the world to enjoy. Perhaps for that very reason, putting on Philipe's skin to make sure Newt would truly care about the very small version of herself, he was someone so special to her too.

  
    And the affection that spread throughout her body was the motivation for Tina to kiss him again. That affection was respect. It was admiration. It was gratitude for Philipe and for herself.

  
    Without moving an inch away, aided by Newt's instinctive touch on her back, Tina pushed herself to be cradled on his lap, her palms free to roam the exposed skin and cotton fabric that covered that body. When Tina realized her actions, she was blindly untying the knot of his robe, but Newt touched her wrist gently, as if in an implied request not to move forward.

  
"No, Tina" - he whispered breathlessly. "You won't want to see this."

  
"Why not?"

  
    That was a doubt the woman had kept from the first time he had prevented her from seeing his bare chest during the analysis of the tyramine capsules in his work shed. And when he had refused her suggestion while working in the garden of his own house, under the scorching sun of a hot morning.

  
"It's not pretty. It will scare you."

  
"Oh, I bet I can handle it" - she hissed in a light, almost amused tone, but the small smile on her lips faded when she realized he wasn't following her.

  
"That's different, Tina. People who saw my scars got scared. I saw revulsion in their eyes."

  
    For some reasons, Newt's words hurt Tina inwardly. 

  
    They had nothing to do with the young zoologist himself or that whole moment, however. They were painful because they transported Tina to various situations she wished she could forget.

  
"Do you think you're the only one with scars?"

  
    Newt evaluated Tina's expressions closely. She hugged her own body as if to protect it, and her left hand spread her ribs over her robe in a region near her right breast. There was something haunting behind those features, and he felt his throat lock as he considered the possibility of having offended her.

  
    It was then that Newt's fingers reached for the cotton belt that tied the garment against his waist. The blue material slid over his shoulders to rest on his thighs, showing Tina's cautious eyes the bare expansion of his chest.

  
     Freckles piled high on his chest, spread from shoulder to shoulder, and disappeared over his abdomen. Newt was not an overly muscular man, Tina noted, and the muscles that stood out among the rest were certainly those most used in his daily activities. Among those most apparent to the skin were three large scars: the first cut the surface between his neck and shoulder, piercing above his right collarbone in a diagonal streak; the second, a set of three parallel pink strands, the width of index fingers, marked him below his chest and continued along its side until it was out of sight; and the third, larger and more prominent in sight than the others, was characterized by an uniform, non-collagenic circular redness that covered much of his left shoulder.

  
    Tina approached Newt, raising her index finger tentatively to touch him. She sought consent in his eyes and, in the absence of withdrawal or other attitudes that prevented her from continuing, lightly touched the second scar, the one consisting of the three red strands. Newt twitched at the woman's soft, cautious touch, unused to any of it. The fingerprints unraveled the ripples curiously, leaving goose bumps where they walked.

  
"How did you get this one?" - she wanted to know.

  
"Freeing a leopard, a female, from a trap" - Newt started, keeping his breath locked. "I didn't realize she was with puppies. She saw me as a threat anyway."

  
    Tina couldn't help frowning in distress as she imagined the searing pain of having part of the chest torn by an animal's claws. A little afraid, she turned her attention to the one above, crossing Newt's collarbone.

  
"And this one?"

"I falled down an elderberry" - Newt laughed and Tina gave a slight smile. "I was studying the nest of a rare species, watching their lifestyle, and I got distracted."

  
    Tina gave one last light stroke over that scar. It was the most superficial of all, and certainly the one that hurt the least. On her way to the opposite shoulder, Tina couldn't help but follow the path left by those freckles and blushed when she realized that Newt was watching her closely as she did so.

  
    Finally, after a few moments of adventure, she reached the biggest of all: the blood-red circle at Newt's shoulder.

  
"And this one?"

  
    Surely there was something peculiar about that scar, a good story, for the man hesitated a few moments after Tina's question, as if talking about it caused him any suffering.

  
"When I found an abandoned captivity of coral snakes in Sinaloa, Mexico, some of them were in fixed cages and the only way to get them out was to use my own hands" - he muttered, contained, and an opacity overshadowed his eyes. "A lot of them tried to attack me and failed, but one was smarter. The bite was shallow and didn't reach circulation immediately. The poison spread through the dermis and infected, as you can see. I was lucky to get medical attention in time."

  
    Tina's hand came to a sudden stop over the mark, her head filled with creepy thoughts.

  
    Newt could have died.

  
    He could have died and Tina could never have met him.

  
    She wondered, if she lived in that terrible reality, if she would ever find someone who welcomed her as he did, who understood her as he did. She wondered if she would know anyone who was to her like Newt, someone just so Newt.

  
    She shook her head to get rid of those considerations. Newt was there before her, so open, so receptive, so alive.

  
    Fully aware and determined of her actions, Tina reached for the knot on her robe's belt and undid it.

  
    She had a faint pink tinge to her cheeks as the cotton sleeves fell gracefully to either side of her waist. Newt held his breath for long moments, not really knowing what to do or where to look, and swallowed his embarrassment. Tina's arm gave way to a single scar, partially hidden beneath her breast.

  
    It was straight, prominent, rising and falling to the soft rhythm of her breathing. Newt thought he could completely cover it with his thumb, the scar which should have been the memory of a relatively deep and painful wound.

  
"I got it on a mission, rescuing a little boy who had been kidnapped. There was a body fight and the kidnapper attacked me with a dagger. That was the first and, luckily, the only time I killed a person" - she looked down at her lap, not liking those memories. "I was still working for the American Ministry at the time. They were not happy to hear about it and asked for my transfer to the British Ministry the following week" - Tina closed her eyes for a moment, uttering the words to herself as a comfort. "But it was him or me."

  
    Tina remembered the day she left the Brooklyn Hospital a few years ago, physically and emotionally exhausted, to be greeted with the information that she was no longer welcome to the corridors of the Ministry. She remembered hearing unfair and mean whispers about her apparent inability to settle things with dialogue, about her apparent strong temper. She remembered crying for two full days for that job she'd always fought for, and the man she'd killed.

  
"You shouldn't be embarrassed by any of them" - she showed a comforting half smile on her lips, sweeping away her own suffocating feelings. "They tell amazing stories of an amazing man."

  
    Tina risked a quick glance at Newt, afraid of any expression on his face. He was silently digesting her words, staring at the scar on her ribs, and seemed uninterested in anything else that was exposed by the nakedness of her torso.

  
"They say people only point out the faults of others when they know that, no matter how hidden they are, those are faults that each one of them also carry" - he muttered, finally turning his clear eyes straight to the brown ones. With a thumb he dried the path of a tear that ran down Tina's pale cheek. "I always wondered if that goes for virtues, too."

  
    Tina squeezed her eyes shut and two more tears streamed down her closed eyelids. Newt's touch was gentle and delicate, and seemed to draw all those neglected emotions out of her chest so that they would empty the hole in her being and never return.

  
"You shouldn't be ashamed of your scar, either. You're strong, Tina, and you're fair. I've known that since the first time I saw you because it's what's on your surface" - he deposited a lock of dark, wet hair behind the woman's ear. "But you're also incredibly kind. There is kindness within you and is a gift knowing you from the inside out."

  
    Tina shimmered under the lamp. She thought that, if she blinked a few more times, the liquid that brought shine to her irises could fall down her cheeks uninterruptedly.

  
    Never before had she heard anything so beautiful as those words.

  
    To Newt, Tina was strong, fair and kind. A gift.

  
    For Tina, he was too.

  
"Where have you been all this time?" - she wondered after long seconds, with eyes never before so bright.

  
    Newt didn't have time to even think about answering that question. In the next instant, he concentrated only on returning the loving embrace that enveloped him, body and soul, cradling him in the immensity of warmth and floral scent emanating from the quivering figure in his lap. Running the short length of dark hair, Newt allowed himself to close his eyes to enjoy that feeling of warmth, occasionally placing a light kiss on the top of Tina's head, resting on the crook of her neck.

  
    He didn't hesitate to unite their foreheads to gently caress their noses, sighing contentedly at the indescribable sensation of having her so close with him. Newt and Tina met once more for a light, calm kiss, demonstrating with each touch, with each murmur in the back of their throat, how much they enjoyed each other's company.

  
    One of Tina's hands unconsciously walked to Newt's back, leaving the exposed skin prickling along the smooth path of her fingers in the instinct to bring him closer. The other, afraid she might lose him at any moment, fitted the back of his neck so that her fingertips dipped between the curly roots of his lighter hair.

  
    He, paralyzed by the awareness that any other fate of his hands could embarrass her, decided to experience the softness of the dark strands between his fingerprints. Tina responded to his gesture with a soft sigh, feeling the tension in her shoulders dissipate with each new unintentional brush of his thumb across the length of her neck. 

  
    His fingers curled at the nape of her neck, guiding her to the perfect fit of their lips, and spreading pleasurable electric currents down her back. Newt's touch was delicate, gentle, fascinating. Tina couldn't help but regret the lack of contact of his other hand.

  
    The woman's hands returned to Newt's chest, blindly experiencing the textures between his chest and abdomen as if her attention was focused there. The man's muscles contracted beneath Tina's palms, unaccustomed to that sensation, and the hand that rested motionless on the material of the robe flickered in desire to be slid around the woman's waist, to bring her even closer.

  
    With such similar thoughts in mind, Tina crawled a few inches across Newt's lap and the most sensitive parts of their bodies bumped, instantly exuding heat from the extent to which they were pressed. That was an extraordinarily simple and yet simply extraordinary touch. Skin to skin.

  
    Newt released a hoarse growl stuck deep in his throat as the woman's thumb slid over the reddish stain on his shoulder. So immersed he was in all that explosion of sensation that he hardly noticed how he was reacting to it. Feeling his cheeks flush with pain at the possibility of compromising himself under Tina's roof, Newt finally pulled away from the woman's lips.

  
"Tina. Please wait."

  
"What's it?" - she asked worriedly. "The scar hurts?"

  
    Newt shook his head in silent denial, feeling his cheeks heat up.

  
"So what happened?"

  
"It's... it's just..." - Newt gestured intensely, as if hoping she could understand what his shyness made it impossible for him to say. "It's just that I'm a little nervous, that's it. And maybe we'd better-"

  
    He swallowed his words, unable to finish that sentence when he knew that he had no desire to stop what they had begun.

  
    Cautiously, he raised his clear orbs to the face that hovered just above his own, but found no impatience or reprimand in them. Just smoothness and understanding.

  
"Is this your first time?" - Tina's voice was soft, receptive.

  
"No. I mean, more or less" - and he realized that, from the woman's confused frown, that answer had been the worst he could choose. "What I mean is that this is the first time I'm doing this with someone I really like."

  
    Tina looked down at the jumble of rumpled robes and bare skin that constituted her thighs on either side of Newt's lap, smiling shyly to herself. She knew her cheeks were heating hotly, but they didn't even match the warmth spread through her chest at that statement.

  
    She could easily get used to hearing things like that recited by Newt's voice.

  
"And why are you nervous?"

  
    It was Newt's turn to blush and escape Tina's sweet eyes.

  
"Are you sure you want this with me? Don't you think we're moving a little too fast? "- Newt's question was genuine, as if he really waited for Tina's opinion. "Not that it's a problem for me, because I can't regret any of the things that are happening. But what about you? I don't want to disrespect you in your own home, Tina. I was taught that I should give my all to courteously respect you before... Well, you know. And I don't think I've worked hard enough to deserve to live something of this magnitude with-"

  
    Newt was unable to continue with this monologue when Tina's light, genuine laugh seemed to calm even the thunder that descended through the wet sky. She took his face in her hands, her icy fingers seeming to dispel the aching flush on his skin to make him aware that he was watched by a loving look.

  
"For starters, this is not my home" - she laughed again, stroking the soft skin under her thumbs. "And I think you would have to work very hard to disrespect me, Newt."

  
    But he still doubted that reacting to those caresses the way his body reacted couldn't be considered a disrespect. With that in mind, his bluish-green orbits turned away from Tina's sweet face.

  
"Look at me" - she said, softly. "Do you know what I see when you look at me? I see caring. Kindness. Affection. Respect. I see that you really care about me and this connection we both have. I see things I only saw in Queenie's eyes and in the eyes of my parents. And do you know how I feel when you look at me?"

  
    Newt was finally forced to face her, and was greeted with an affectionate smile.

  
"I feel like I've found something valuable that I've been looking for all my life, that needs no effort to have me, and that I don't even want to think about losing."

  
    _Like Newt for what he is?_

  
_It would be madness not to do it._

  
"But of course we'll take things at your pace, Newt. We can wait, move slowly or in a hurry, the way you feel most comfortable" - she said, linking her fingers with his. "So I would like to know what your heart says."

  
    The magnetism held by that look was palpable. With the most overwhelming certainty he'd ever had in his life, Newt hissed the most unlikely and, at the same time, most likely answer to that question:

  
_"Your name."_

  
    And, drawn to that magnetism that still hung over their bodies, they shared the most intense, deep, passionate kiss they had ever exchanged.

  
    Newt, not simply holding back to Tina's inviting mouth, decided that maybe it was time to explore the softness of her skin, to smell the scent of her neck up close.

  
"Wait."

  
    It was Tina's turn to gasp for Newt's lips.

  
    She glanced over her shoulder at the glass door behind her back and smirked at the man's worried frown.

  
"Let's go to my room. It's dangerous here, you know? We may be watched by someone on guard outside."

  
    At the sound of their mixed laughter, Tina tucked the robe over her bare shoulders before rising from Newt's lap and waiting for him to stand, too, covered in the cloth. She tried to remove from her mind and body the sight and sensation of his reactions to those activities, but the tingling in her gut was too real to be ignored as she made her way to the bedroom door.

  
    Heart pounding in her ears in anxiety, she closed the door behind her and locked it, as she did every night. Newt, who didn't show much interest in the wall again covered with white paint at the back of the room, watched her with some curiosity.

  
"Just in case" - she explained with an uncertain smile. Her hand instinctively groped for the switch. "You… Would you rather make love with the lights on or off?"

  
    _Make love..._

  
    Newt stared at those words longer than acceptable. Was that what they were going to do?

  
    He smiled. The possibility of having love between him and Tina made him ecstatic.

  
"I really don't have a preference" - he blushed. Though he wanted to see her more than anything in the world, that was not a lie at all.

  
    Tina watched the switch and the lamp beside her bed, struggling to reason in the midst of that immense expectation. With a slight flick of her fingers as she considered all her options, the bedroom lights were completely extinguished.

  
    After a few steps and seconds, her silhouette reappeared in the ethereal half light of the lamp.

  
"The middle ground, then."

  
    Tina turned to Newt with a shy smile to see him return her shyness.

  
    She wanted to laugh at their apparent clumsiness at the moment, like two teenagers in love, about to meet each other for the second time. But she didn't, because the comparison was quite adequate for that atmosphere of comfort and curiosity, with the faint longing of one who is about to try something new and revolutionary.

  
    She strode short and slow back toward Newt. They said nothing as their hands touched so that their fingers were entwined, risking steps to the bed. They didn't need to say anything. The mesmerized eyes communicated the certainty that they saw each other as the most beautiful things they could ever see.

  
    Unable to avoid his distraction, Newt's legs hit the mattress and knocked him down the mattress, taking Tina with him. In the blink of an eye she was over his body, laughing and laughing, her short hair extended toward his face as if to reach him.

  
    She was beautiful.

  
    He murmured that realization until her red mouth was hovering over his, pinning him between the mattress and the paradise, and his lips were too busy to speak again.

  
    Tina kissed him and Newt kissed her back as if their lives depended on it. As if they were oxygen to the burning lungs within themselves. As if they were blood to be pumped by the fast pace of their hearts. As if they were one.

  
    She was in every part of Newt. She was in his fingerprints. She was in his scars. She was in every fragment of his goose bumps.

  
    He was in every part of Tina. He was in her senses. He was on her exhalations. He was tangled in the strands of her hair.

  
    He was also on the linen of her sheets, between her thighs, under the partially open space of her robe. And his large, paradoxically light hands slid down her back, accurately drawing the curves hidden by the cotton fabric, mapping the exact distance between each of the prominent vertebrae. They carried her past the clouds, to a place near the sun where her body warmed more by the second, with each new inch of her body covered by the man's palms.

  
    Dark hair fell like curtains over the sides of their faces, depriving their dancing lips of being watched by the flowery, inconvenient paintings that were part of the rented furniture. The tips of her delicate fingers, when not clinging to the cloth glued to the bed, wrote wishes and wills over Newt's chest and neck, as if leaving behind the trail to be followed by her lips in the future.

  
    And such a trail they made. They traveled along the well-defined jaw line, zigzagged along the side freckles of the hard neck, floated over the valley between the apparent clavicles, as far as the disheveled robe allowed them. And then the garment became uncomfortable enough that Newt would not contradict her desire to completely undress him.

  
    _Body. Mind. Emotions. Instincts. Desires._

  
    He was at her mercy, exposed to eyes and hands, and he was all she ever wanted to see and touch.

  
    With her lower lip clenched between her teeth, Tina left her fingerprints trailing across Newt's skin in a delicate greeting. She strode down his arms, the patches of sunlight on the backs of his hands, his heavy and slightly flushed chest, his tightened abdomen with each bolder touch. Newt's hands left the sheets as the woman's lips touched his neck to leave quick, simple, slow, wet kisses that could erase the rails of any reasoning, and were guided by his most urgent instincts. And he didn't hesitate to rest them on either side of Tina's waist to position her where he most wanted to.

  
    As in a restrained sly approval, Tina made a sound in the back of her throat as she slid her lips toward the curve of the gooseflesh neck and received in response a low, hoarse growl released near her ear. They knew, between the lines of that communication, that there was no going back to the path they decided to take.

  
    And they were a mess of touches, sensations, kisses and sighs drowned out by the sounds of torrential rain all the way along Tina's caresses across Newt's chest and abdomen. When interrupted by the presence of the underwear he was still wearing, she looked up hesitantly at his flushed face. He seemed to strive enormously to suppress his reactions.

  
"You don't have to do this, Tina."

  
    She absently strummed the hem of the garment, noticing the way the muscles contracted with every slightest movement.

  
"I don't have to" - she assimilated. "But can I?"

  
    Newt's lips became a thin line, pressed tight against each other, and he swallowed hard. Tina waited long moments without wavering at her silent request for consent, and he, rising over his forearms to get a better look at her, found himself unable to do anything but nod.

  
"I'm yours, Tina. You can do anything you want to me."

  
    There was no malice in the smile Tina gave him after that statement. Nor in the smile he dared to return in complicity.

  
    With trembling hands in anxiety, Tina removed the small garment to leave it somewhere on the bedroom floor. She couldn't stop her attention from returning to the part of Newt she didn't already know, or her thoughts talking about how he seemed to have been molded to her. Tina didn't realize she was smiling when she started her movements.

  
    The woman's fingerprints and lips marked him everywhere, releasing tones of his own voice that he didn't yet know. Lazy voices, urgent voices, voices that matched the rhythms she decided to adopt. Tina focused exclusively on getting to know him better. Discovered his tastes. Met dark tones of his irises, motivations to make him border the bounds of self-control.

  
    When he touched her gently on the shoulder, Tina realized that, by the way he was making a hasty escape from her thrusts, Newt was no further from the precipice. And entwining his fingers with hers was the way she found to reassure him, communicating through eyes and touches that she was more than willing to stay until the end.

  
    Newt broke free in a prolonged roar and collapsed back to the mattress. All he wanted to do was see her, though he was too dizzy to even open his eyes. But he knew she was still there, fulfilling the promise to resist with him until he could get released.

  
    The floral scent emanating from her wet hair filled his nostrils during one of his desperate breaths of air, and he felt the mattress sink right next to him just before basking in the magnetism of her lips.

  
    There was something of Newt in Tina's kiss, something that gave them the certainty that they merged, little by little, about to become one. He was ecstatic to consider carrying a little of Tina with him, too, sometime in that brief future. The thought made him open his eyes to see her sitting beside him with a shy, discreet smile on her lips.

  
    Because he thought the distance between their faces was too large to bear, Newt hurried to adopt the same position as her.

  
"Are you all right?" - Tina asked, a slight twinge of amusement in her voice.

  
"Everything is still spinning" - he laughed and she accompanied him. He smiled at the adorably pink cheeks she carried. "Thanks for that, Tina."

  
    Tina suppressed another light laugh, amused by his need to thank her, and stroked it to his elbow with her fingertips in response. He touched her chin, gently bringing her to one of the countless encounters of their lips.

  
"You're still dressed" - he finally noticed the unwanted presence of the robe.

  
"I am?"

  
    Tina laughed, amused, as he hugged her around the waist and directed her to the mattress so that her hair was strewn across the sheets. She kept a steady, calm smile on her lips as he let his eyes wander over her slender body, even still beneath the fabric. Tingling seized her insides as he laid cautious fingers on the knot of the robe.

  
"Can I?"

  
    She nodded, reaching over her forearms to help him undo the noose.

  
"I'm yours too, Newt."

  
    The tremor that reached Tina's toes as the light irises unraveled the white expanse of her bare torso and legs had nothing to do with shyness. Maybe because she knew there was no evil in his mesmerized eyes, maybe because the feeling of being watched by him made her desperately longing to know the words he was willing to say through his parted lips.

  
"You're..." - Newt tripped over the jumble of compliments that locked his throat. "Sorry, Tina, but I'll recite the list later."

  
     She laughed openly on the mattress, arching her spine as if she could throw her head back, spreading a full laugh across the universe. Newt, who didn't want to give up his instincts, took advantage of the exposure of Tina's neck to bury his anxious lips over it, and slowly brought the woman's attention back to his boldest moves.

  
    And he did a good job of making the white skin red, and the red lips white trapped between her teeth. He then decided it was finally time to test the warm skin under his touch, and Tina hugged him by the shoulders, bringing him closer to herself as his fingers spread the curves of her waist, the bony prominences of her ribs.

  
    He couldn't help but map, with eyes and fingertips, every single mole that stood out in her lap and breasts, and she couldn't help her breathing becoming fragmented as she realized that he planned to draw circles in those areas. Satisfied as Tina's knuckles involuntarily closed, he continued down the valley between her breasts, the tips of his fingers light as feathers, watching her abdominal muscles contract in reflex and anxiety.

  
    Beneath her navel, breaking through even more sensitive territory, he cautiously analyzed the way her knees flexed and the same knuckles clinging to the sheets were already whitish from exertion. Because Tina was staring at him with predatory urgency in her eyes, Newt found himself unable to remain in his detailed studies of that epidermis. He strummed the underwear she still carried in the same way she had done with his, and silently questioned if he had consent to continue.

  
    Tina responded by raising her hips slightly, allowing the fabric to slide down her thighs and ankles to be lost in a place that was unimportant at that moment. Her eyes remained fixed on Newt's face all the time, analyzing his expressions, wondering if he cared about her imperfections, if he still liked everything he saw. And he answered her with dilated pupils and ragged breaths.

  
    Newt sought once again for consent to what he planned to do, and this time saw her legs grant free passage for his explorations. Eye to eye, his fingers studied her as art. His designs swung between slow circles that locked her jaw, and sudden inlets and outlets that produced rhythmic melodies from her voice. Though all the while at her side, using his lips everywhere he could reach while his hands did most of the work, Newt carried Tina away to a place above the sun from which she could plummet at any moment.

  
    They both knew the exact moment she would fall for the first time. For that reason, Tina grabbed him by the shoulders to glue their bodies and bury her face in the crook of his neck, calling for his name until control of her senses couldn't allow it anymore. And, for the first time in his life, Newt experienced a fierce motivation that made him move his hands even more intensely toward her end.

  
    With a series of spasms spreading all over her body, Tina collapsed onto the mattress, eyes closed to take advantage of her ecstasy and parted lips to vocalize her numbness, under Newt's mesmerized eyes.

  
    He took care of her during her moments of unconsciousness, removing wet strands of hair from the front of her face, drying the sweat trail that ran into her eyes, extending the knee that still remained bent over the bed.

  
    She opened her eyes and blinked a few times to adjust her vision amid the swirling scenery around her and saw Newt's face projecting over hers, appraising her. She returned the smile he gave and, interrupted on the verge of also vocalizing her gratitude, felt their lips sealed by a simple kiss.

  
    And there was something about Tina in that kiss.

  
    But Tina couldn't make sure of the way her taste went from his fingers to his mouth, for Newt's lips drifted to her cheeks, then to her chin, to the line of her jaw, to her earlobe, and remained there, whispering words of affection between light bites, until she could no longer think about anything else. For Tina, there was no way to characterize the delicious feeling of being pressed between Newt and a mattress, and, still slightly dizzy from the climax, she couldn't tell if she had held back her murmurs of approval.

  
    Newt left simple kisses all over the side of Tina's neck and lingered a little longer on the inviting curve that formed with her shoulder, emitting low growls at the way her nails slid down his back. His mouth explored the texture of the skin over her collarbones, over the valley between her breasts and, to her relief, over each of her breasts. And then, undecided, Tina's fingers snaked between the linen strands of the sheets and Newt's curly strands of hair, bracing for the continuity of his way ahead.

  
    As if Tina's thoughts had been shouted out, Newt continued his adventure, directing his lips to the woman's ribs, which parted and retracted to the desperate rhythm of her breath. He crossed Tina's abdomen and realized that her inspirations had become loud, audible even with the heavy drops of water that insisted on bouncing off the window. She knew what he planned to do, and judging by the presence of that familiar malicious melody, she made no objection to his plans.

  
    The light irises were riveted to Tina's face when he finally kissed her where she wanted him the most. From the pupils never before so dilated, he observed all the slightest and most beautiful changes in her expression. He watched her squirm between the sheets, watched her cover her face with her hands, watched her arch her back almost to the edge of the mattress, and watched her hum loudly enough to nearly make him lose his mind.

  
    But it was Tina who collapsed once again.

  
    She remained out of orbit as she tried to regain a frequency calm enough for the rhythm of her heartbeats and breathing, her pale, slightly flushed skin glowing under a thin layer of sweat. Newt watched her all the time, memorizing as much detail as he could, and thought that was a good time to recite the list of all the adjectives associated with that woman. And he would have, if Tina hadn't opened her astonished eyes.

  
"Welcome back" - Newt greeted, collapsing into the narrow, empty space beside her, and listened to her giggling.

  
    After all, the sound of Tina's laugh was still his favorite sound.

  
    She turned to him, nestling against the side of his body, and remained long minutes in silence, just breathing in his natural scent. She hoped that, by that time, it was already soaked in her mattress.

  
    It didn't take much effort to realize that his latest activities had somehow stirred Newt's instincts. And watching him lying beside her, after they had completely given themselves to each other, made the tingling dormant in her gut show once again.

  
    She took a few more seconds to catch her stolen breath before lifting her trunk to reach one of the drawers on her bedside table.

  
    She fumbled for one of the three forgotten little packages inside, and grunted in displeasure when she realized that the one she picked had once belonged to Achilles. That could have been used by him and Meredith. That would have been used by him and Tina, against her will, had she not stopped him.

  
    A nasty shiver ran down her spine, and she was about to throw the condom back into the drawer when Newt touched her forearm.

  
"Tina, we don't have to do this today if you don't want to."

  
    Newt was hesitant and cautious, perhaps hurt by her expressions. Tina felt the anger dissipate from her veins immediately.

  
"Ah, it's not what you're thinking. It's just..." - Tina flinched, swallowing back all the words she was about to say.

  
    She shook off any thought or mention of that terrible night. She didn't think it was fair to bring them up when Newt was by her side.

  
"I really want it, Newt" - and she sounded certain and affectionate. "I really want this with you."

  
    The man's cheeks turned a scarlet red, but there was a cheerful smile on his features.

  
"But that's fine if you don't want it today or now. Really" - Tina thought it best to clarify it, genuine.

  
    Newt reached for the feminine hand resting on the mattress and placed a simple kiss on its back before using it to bring Tina to his lap, mounted on his lap once more.

  
    She stared at him as if seeking consent to be there, and he smiled, stroking the soft, moist skin of her face with the backs of his fingers.

  
"I want to" - he murmured, rubbing their noses in a subtle caress. "I want everything with you."

  
    Tina kissed Newt slowly and intensely, communicating through her caresses all her respect and gratitude, and smiled against his lips, certain that she shared the most clichés and romantic wills of the most incredible man she had ever met.

  
    They held their foreheads together as they tore the plastic Tina still held in hands, with little or no interest in its origin. It wasn't of any importance. Not anymore.

  
    Newt's hands were gentle around her hips as she slowly made them one, giving her support and encouragement to be respectfully comfortable.Though their bodies were in constant motion, nestling against each other in an urgency of hands, lips, and hips, the bluish-green eyes never left the brown ones. That was the first time they had experienced such kindness, freedom, and fluidity to find their own rhythm. 

  
    Newt was mesmerized by the rhythmic ups and downs of Tina's curves over his body, as well as the sensations that such a dance provided. But it was when she would brush her hair away from her face, over her shoulders with eyes closed and a slight tilt of head, and lips clenched between her teeth to suppress her Dionysian melody, that he thought being face to face with a deity.

  
    Tina was divine. A Renaissance sculpture awakens.

  
    And he, eyes glazed in every detail, was a passionate devotee.

  
    He claimed the female lips to his own teeth, and didn't mind the abrupt interruption of all their movements. He only concentrated on kissing the cold skin, subtly wet with rain and sweat, running from the apex of her neck to each of her breasts.

  
"Do you want some control?" - Tina offered, so breathless that her voice was little more than a sigh.

  
    But Tina didn't wait for an answer. In the next second she sprawled on the mattress with Newt's body hovering over hers. Brown eyes looked at him expectantly, almost smiling with happiness, and he looked back intently, unwilling to disappoint them.

  
    At first, the lack of practice made him insecure. His movements were short and hesitant, afraid that any miscalculations could hurt her. However, encouraged by her crossed ankles around his waist, he knew he was allowed to go deeper. Faster. Stronger.

  
    Newt and Tina gasped and sighed and hummed with the same enthusiasm of the storm that blanketed them, certain that the thunderstorms would keep their private spectacle of love safe. Occasionally, willing to keep some of that song to themselves, they drowned each other's voices deep in their throats, within the warmth and safety of their countless kisses.

  
    When Tina's lips began to mutter ragged words, when her breath locked like her jaws, and when her heartbeats became so intense that they were fired against Newt's chest, they knew the apex of their connection was close. He, amazed and ecstatic at that realization, didn't need much more to know that he would accompany her in that outburst.

  
    Tina plummeted from the clouds once more. And, at that one, unlike all the other times when she was lost for long minutes in solitary free fall, she found Newt on the edge of the cliff so that they fell together in a completely new ocean of colors and sensations.

  
    Seconds, minutes, or whole hours passed until they were back in reality, snuggled together on the sheets of that mattress. Their skins hid the bubbling tingles that ran along each path of their veins, diffused into each of their cells. Their breasts rose and fell, desperate for air, in perfect sync. Their eyes, closed to enjoy the most of that delicious sensation, still saw each other in their plunge of love.

  
    Tina partially rolled over Newt's body to finally open her eyes. And in his she found the confirmation necessary for her pondering.

  
    _That was real._

  
    They smiled between kisses, and kissed between smiles, until brief hints of physical exhaustion weighed their eyelids.

  
"We need a bath before we rest" - Tina observed, laughing slightly as she sat on the bed with Newt within reach.

  
    He nodded, rising from the mattress and giving her a hand, helping her to follow him.

  
    Reaching the bedroom door, about to unlock it to cross the hallway toward the bathroom, an amused smile reached her feminine lips.

  
"And if my memory doesn't fail me, you have a certain list to recite..."

 

 

 

 

 

    Dark, wet hair, bathed in a fresh scent of lavender, spread over Newt's bare chest and shoulder. Tina's fingers caressed his scars, leaving behind a pleasant tingle on the skin. He thought he would never get tired of watching her there, so flushed and so close, nestled in his arms.

  
    A playful smile tugged at the female lips at the notion of being watched.

  
"What?"

  
"Are you feeling this, too?"

  
"This what?"

  
"This good, addictive feeling that seems to spill into our blood" - Newt seemed to struggle to put it into words under Tina's attentive gaze. "Must be because this has been-"

  
"Hasn't it?" - she found herself agreeing, not even waiting for the sentence to end, and was a little embarrassed by her behavior being controled by all the euphoria that refused to leave her body.

  
    Newt moved a little closer to Tina, still watching her with such bright eyes, as if he were face to face with the most beautiful work of art in the world.

  
"The surest thing the world" - he was finally pleased to be able to characterize it.

  
    With the back of his fingers, he brushed one of the strands away from her face, laying it lovingly behind her ear. His other hand gently ran the length of her bare back.

  
    Tina used those quiet moments to daydream about how much she wanted to stay there, in Newt's arms, for all her remaining life. How much she wanted to remain the center of attention of Newt's eyes for all eternity. How much she wanted to be like an inspiring muse for Newt and no one else.

  
    That last daydream, in particular, brought out a secret curiosity of Tina, muffled under cold cloths and kept under locks and keys among all the other thoughts that dominated her mind while she was with Newt.

  
"You and Leta, have you ever..." - momentarily regretting that recent and inappropriate curiosity, Tina fell silent in a second. The question became little more than a suggestion for Newt's imagination.

  
    But he had understood it at once.

  
"No. We have never been more than friends. I've only been with one woman before you."

  
    Tina had the impulse to ask for more, but remained silent, ruminating on her inappropriate curiosity as Newt considered to delve a little deeper into that question.

  
"I've been with Meredith."

  
    And an unexpected jolt hit her heart.

  
"But it's not like she did it willingly, Tina" - Newt felt the need to explain himself. But from the wrong choice of words, his brow writhed even more intensely than before. "God, that sounds terrible. What I mean is that she was bribed to be with me. Not from me, because I wouldn't settle for something like that, but from someone else, unbeknownst to me."

  
    Tina shifted over Newt's bare chest to get a better look at him as his narrative resumed.

  
"It happened right when Theseus proposed to Leta, because someone suspected I was celibate for being in love only with her and wanted to prove their speculation." Newt paused, watching the soft brush of some strands of her hair against her chin. "So someone demanded Meredith to go and pretend to be interested in me. She used every possible emotional appeal to get what she wanted and I, believing being face to face with a woman who really wanted to be with me for the first time, accepted her offer. Though she never drew anything from my relationship with Leta from me, Meredith spread to everyone that before her I was nothing but a boy in my early twenties whose unusual personality had never allowed me to be with a woman."

  
    Newt's eyes blinked, opaque, filled with restrained embarrassment, and Tina realized how hard he strove to talk openly about it. Her stomach twisted unpleasantly, plunged into unbridled rage.

  
    Until that moment, even after everything that had happened, Tina had never really been angry at the bar attendant. In fact, she had felt the need to thank her for pushing Achilles out of her life once and for all. But that, being so cruel to Newt to the point of humiliating him to an entire city, that was too much. Meredith was despicable. As despicable as the person who sent her for that purpose.

  
    Tina thought she knew the answer to the question before she even vocalized it.

  
"Who bribed her to be with you?"

  
"No one important, Tina" - and, face to face with an intelligent and observant criminal investigator, Newt knew his statement would not be convincing.

  
"I know who did it. I just need you to tell me his name."

  
    If Tina's eyes didn't have an incredibly kind and accomplice glow, Newt's voice would have failed more than it did.

  
"Achilles."

  
    She nodded quietly.

  
"I'm so sorry for everything he's ever done to you, Newt. He's a monster. I should have noticed from the start."

  
    Tina rose from Newt's chest, mounted on one of his thighs, and the blanket slid down her bare back. She pressed her eyes shut, trembling slightly at the cold breeze that had come over her. The words seemed to hurt Tina and Newt knew she was sorry for him and for herself. Newt reached for her hand with his.

  
"It's not our fault, Tina."

  
"I know, Newt. I just can't help this regret..." - she confessed.

  
     She thought that saying what was in her chest could be a good way to ease that discomfort. Newt seemed willing to listen to her.

  
"I've only been with him before you, too. It wasn't like he was a despicable person since the day we met, he wasn't. He offered everything I thought I needed and, feeling alone and unworthy of any another affection in the world, I accepted what he had to offer me. I have learned many things since then. About myself, about the things I deserve, especially" - she looked into his eyes with an implied request among her brown irises. "Please, don't think I'm saying this just because I'm here with you... But I truly can't help thinking that everything he used to say he felt for me were lies when I see so much truth coming from you. Not when the way you look at me and touch me overflows a kindness that I never knew before meeting you. If only our paths had been crossed before all those things happened..."

  
    Though deeply touched by Tina's words, Newt shook his head in denial.

  
"It doesn't matter anymore" - he shared his point of view. "We are here now, you and I, just because of the circumstances that brought us here. If you and I had met before all this, before all these trials we had to pay, I might not have known that there is no thing or person in the world that makes me feel the way I feel when I'm with you. I wouldn't know that this way of feeling would make me want to wait whole nights outside with a firearm, which I certainly I don't know how to use, just to make sure you would be all right, or that it would make me want to cross an entire ocean to see you again if I had to, and I certainly wouldn't know, Tina, that the way I feel when I'm with you in a bed, in the rain, on the roof of my house or in a hot dog stand compares to nothing I've ever experienced in my life."

  
    And there was Newt, validating all the certainties that Tina lovingly nestled in her heart.

  
    A small tear slid down her cheek and she reached for it just as he did. Placing a soft kiss on Newt's palm, Tina smiled tenderly because she knew exactly what he meant.

  
    _That way of feeling._

  
    It was like finally finding the home she'd always been looking for.

  
    Giving in to Newt's silent urge to get closer, Tina laid back on his bare torso, her face resting on one hand at the level of his prominent collarbone, and felt he recover their bodies to the shoulders with the covers. Their noses almost touched, and it felt as though hundreds of snowflakes danced gracefully inside her abdomen.

  
"If the people of this town listened to our conversation, they would say that you are in love with me, Mr Scamander..."

  
    Tina's tone was playful, but Newt's eyes were serious, piercing, accompanied by a defiant half smile.

  
_"What if I am?"_

  
    Newt was there, staring at Tina as if she were the most intriguing and beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life, his fingers touching her with the delicacy of a brush that gives life to the details of a painting. His skin was warm, giving off a sense of comfort and security that made her want to stay there, watching all the smallest, most subtle freckles on his body, inhaling the scent of her soap impregnated with his wet red-brown hair, feeling his clear eyes and calloused fingers studying her warily, whispering sweet and malicious words between calm and intense kisses, enjoying the delicious melody of her heart beating at every moment by every movement of that dance. Forever.

  
_"Lucky me, then."_

  
     Tina's smiling lips hurried against Newt's to accept that implied proposal.

  
     When she drew back to look at him again, the flesh of her own lips between her teeth, there was curiosity, malice and amusement in her eyes.

  
"Could you see me naked, coming out from the shower, when you were outside?"


	17. We are three.

The light that passed through the cracks in the window was weak and scarce. As thin, sharp drops fell among the low grass in the yard to raise the rustic, pleasant scent of rain, Tina, in the warm darkness of her room, shifted lazily under the heavy blanket.

  
    Her conscience oscillated like the sonorous trembling of the treetops on that cold, gray morning, giving her the feeling of having her face pressed against the soft surface of the pillow, or plunging her into the illusion that the rustic scent of herbs and cinnamon impregnated in it spread directly from Newt Scamander's body. She often took a deep breath, everything around her lean body made her muscles relax. A brief, distant and insistent metallic sound hovered between the raindrops, making Tina open her eyes slowly after a long yawn.

  
    The room was little more than gloom and shadows broken only by the light from the half-open door. Gradually, the woman's pupils adjusted to give shape to the sheets spread out on the mattress, and she realized, with a slightly frown in confusion, that there were no signs of Newt's presence in her room.

  
    She sat down reluctantly, running her fingers through her messy hair, and her bare skin shivered from the icy touch of the low temperatures. She heard the sounds of cutlery coming from her kitchen at the same time her eyes focused the robe carefully folded at the opposite end of the bed. An involuntary smile broke out on her lips.

  
    _Newt..._

  
    It was impossible to stop recalling memories of the previous night, which crossed her closed eyelids with stunning clarity in details.

  
    _Newt standing, hands raised in surrender, outside her house._

  
_An intense kiss exchanged at the kitchen counter. Another on the living room sofa. Another against the mattress of that bed._

  
_Disjointed murmurs and involuntary spasms. Once. Twice. Three times._

  
_The tight space below the shower. Newt's fingers massaging the roots of her hair with the foam of her shampoo. Their images reflected in the small bathroom mirror as he combed her hair, reciting a long and creative list of compliments that made her blush._

  
_The words and caresses exchanged under the blankets until the moment when exhaustion overcame them._

  
    And with Newt's arms around her, it had been the first night Tina had experienced quality sleep in a long time.

  
    It was at times like that that Tina assessed the speed and intensity with which the events in her life were happening. In less than a month, she had lost Picquery, discovered hidden personalities of Achilles that put an end to their relationship, became a target of lethal criminals and, in a contrast more than welcome to all that darkness, came closer to the man for which she was feeling a growing affection.

  
    Time was in a hurry at Castle Combe. Minutes passed like hours, days passed like months, and little by little the life before her departure from London was more like a nostalgic memory from many years before. A reality in which she no longer fit.

  
    But that morning, Tina felt alive again.

  
    In a deep breath, the woman's nostrils inflated with a delicious aroma emanating from her kitchen and felt her stomach protest with a growl. More than quickly, Tina covered her exposed arms with her robe to follow the tantalizing scent of coffee mixed with something being roasted.

  
    Propped against the doorframe, Tina watched Newt standing by the stove, pouring the cream-colored content of a ladle into a frying pan, next to freshly washed dishes over the sink. He wore nothing more than the pants of the previous day, the shirt nowhere to be seen, and Tina felt her chest warm up at the sight of him so comfortable as to dispense wearing the garment in her presence.

  
    Still with her eyes fixed on his bare torso, Tina sneaked up to Newt to hug him around the waist and deposit a series of kisses along his neck. She smiled against the exposed skin when she heard his soft laugh.

  
"Morning" - Tina purred, resting her chin on Newt's shoulder to see what he was cooking.

  
"Morning" - he replied, tilting his head so that it was slightly touching Tina's. "Did I wake you up with any noise?"

  
    With nostrils buried in Newt's skin, Tina just shook her head in denial. Her eyes peered, curious and hungry, at the pancake that took shape inside the frying pan.

  
"I made you coffee and pancakes, prepared you toast with jam and put honey and lemon on an avocado" - Newt indicated each of the items with a nod. They were arranged, in a very organized way, on a small tray on the kitchen counter.

  
    Tina untied her arms from Newt's waist, moving away enough to be propped up on the counter, while looking at the tray with bright, dazzled eyes.

  
"You prepared all this for me?"

  
"I thought you needed to eat properly. The original plan was to take everything to you, in your bed. But now that you are awake, I can set up a nice breakfast table for you."

  
    A tender smile played on the female lips as she tasted the delicious mixture of citrus and sweetness of the avocado. She could never have imagined that she would see beauty in the faded floral painting of her tenant's set of cups, but that morning she thought that there couldn't be a more appropriate set in the world.

  
    Newt's delicacy was something that constantly surprised her.

  
"It's a perfect morning for breakfast in bed" - she said, with a faint sigh.

  
    Tina turned to Newt, walking the short distance between them, while he busied himself with turning off the fire. He snuggled her into a side hug, blushing slightly when he noticed a slight gloss in the smiling eyes that watched him with affection.

  
"I loved it, Newt. And, to be honest, I think it's a perfect morning to be in bed all day, with you."

  
    Because everything about that scene enchanted him, from the words to the inviting expression on Tina's face, Newt couldn't help his urge to join her lips with his in a passionate kiss. Almost instinctively, she returned the gesture by crossing her arms around his neck, so that their bodies were glued together. After what came to be a long kiss, they remained embraced for a few moments, just enjoying each other's presence.

  
    Her fingers dipped between the strands of his hair in a light caress made him seriously ponder the idea of carrying her back to the sheets, but he knew he couldn't give in to temptation.

  
"Your proposal is more tempting than it should, Tina, but I have to work today, remember?"

  
    The warm skin on Newt's shoulders muffled the very small _'ah'_ she released.

  
"You're right... I forgot it" - she moved away to look him in the eye. "When can I see you again?"

  
"Actually, I was thinking of taking you to meet Zouwu and Frank today. Philipe would be happy to see you. What do you say?"

  
"Go with you to the mansion?" - Tina considered, a little distressed, the invitation. "But what if someone sees us together? And besides, I don't know if I can get in there, Newt. I mean, wouldn't that be an invasion? I could put your job to-"

  
"Hey, no problem" - he gently interrupted. "It will be just you and me walking together, which everyone in town has already seen. As it's still very early, I'm sure no one will see you at the mansion, Tina. And even if they see you, we won't be doing anything wrong."

  
"Newt... I don't know... Are you sure?"

  
"Eberdith won't mind. Trust me."

  
    Tina considered the proposal for a few more moments, but the tranquility that Newt kept in his eyes made keeping her apprehension an impossible task.

  
"What time will we pick Philipe up?" - she finally asked.

  
    Newt smiled, shooting a quick glance at the wall clock.

  
"We have enough time for breakfast, and we can leave when you're ready."

  
    After leaving a light kiss on Tina's temple, Newt turned his attention to the pancake, transferring it from the frying pan to the others, on a dish plate over the sink. Tina, one more time propped up on the counter, was quietly taking another spoonful of avocado.

  
    He watched her under his fringe of messy hair, feeling his cheeks start to warm up, before clearing his throat and announcing the second part of his proposal, hidden by a dose of shyness that he refused to abandon.

  
"We can take Philipe out for ice cream before leaving him at home. And after that, if you think it's a good idea, we can go to my place, where you can spend the night, if you want..."

  
    Judging by the blush spread across Newt's face and chest, Tina was able to decipher what was going on in his head and had to bite the inside of her cheeks to contain a sinful smile.

  
    She was tempted to ask bolder questions just to make him irresistibly uncomfortable, but she simply asked:

  
"Can I use your bathtub again?"

  
    However, without responding immediately, Newt blushed even more. And, shaking her head in denial for sheer amusement, Tina let the repressed sinful smile reach her lips.

 

 

 

 

After a few hours of interruption, the fine drizzle had finally subsided, leaving a slight freshness of moist soil on the property's grass carpets. Tina's boots left well-defined footprints behind, which zigzagged toward the stables between those of Newt and Philipe.

  
    The little boy's animated chatter seemed to wake up the tulips and jasmines asleep by the rain, easily making up for the absence of sunlight in the gray sky. Jumping from puddle to puddle, he shared with Tina, in the smallest detail, everything she should know about the two most fascinating inhabitants of the Graves mansion.

  
"Frank doesn't like bathing, Tina, and he shakes himself when he's wet. It's best to stay as far away as you can, when the time comes."

  
"Well observed, Philipe. I'll be careful."

  
    Smiling with her eyes, Tina gave Newt a loving look just to find out that he was watching Philipe with a similar expression on his face.

  
"Can I show her the saddles, Newt?" - and, without really waiting for an answer, he turned back to Tina: "I've tried them all, you know?"

  
"Really? And what is your favorite?"

  
    Philipe seemed to ponder for a few seconds, while jumping over two more puddles.

  
"None. I don't like seeing Zouwu and Frank tied up. Hey, look at him over there, Tina! Can you see him from here? He's in the first stall!"

  
    With an even more intense agitation, Philipe darted towards the stables. There was a low whinny between Newt and Tina's soft laughter.

  
"Are you sure that he is not your son?" - Tina questioned, discreetly brushing the back of her hand with Newt's.

  
    He, marveling at all that, took the gesture as an incentive to interlace their fingers.

  
"It's just like if he was."

  
    They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, listening to the distant birdsong mixed with the whisper of the treetops. Tina also took the opportunity to look around at the mansion built to the west and the open countryside that went north in an endless shade of green. Her life was quite different when xhe had been in that place for the last time. It was a gift to be able to feel alive after all those past days.

  
    Frank's pair of big, kind eyes followed every second of their approach, greeting Newt as an old friend and Tina as a potential great friend. When she raised a hand to smooth the soft fur, all the animal did was to blink its eyes lazily in consent.

  
"Newt, can I take Frank to graze?" - Philipe offered.

  
"You can feed him too, if you want."

  
    Clapping his hands in celebration, Philipe followed Newt to the back of the building, where stocks of hay were piling up and a wall was piled high with riding goods. The man offered the boy a small bag of corn, which he accepted with genuine joy before opening the stall to guide Frank out of the stable.

  
    So immersed in that scene was Tina that she hardly noticed the other pair of big, kind eyes that watched her with a certain caution and restraint. It belonged to the dark brown mare, as big as she was beautiful, which Philipe loved to talk about. Tina did not hesitate as she approached the stall where the animal rested.

  
"And this is Zouwu" - Newt murmured, concentrating on separating the instruments that would be necessary for the activities to be carried out that day. "She is a little skittish and reserved with strangers. I have never had an accident with Mrs. Graves or Philipe, but it is prudent to approach cautiously to avoid-"

  
    Newt realized that there was no reason for him to continue with his instructions. While Tina stroked Zouwu's long neck with both hands, the mare kept her eyes closed in a silent show of appreciation. He laughed to himself.

  
    Not even the trickiest of them sees you as a problem.

  
"You were saying...?" - Tina raised her eyebrows in defiance, but she was also smiling, happy to have easily won the trust of yet another of the animals for whom Newt cared.

  
    During the hours that followed, Tina, amidst the assistance she provided him with, took the opportunity not only to learn a little more about the horses but also to observe the zoologist up close in his professional activity. With each new interaction established between him and the animals, Tina marveled a little more at the way in which he set free to all the most beautiful aspects of his irreverent personality, as if with them was his right place to be.

  
    She couldn't deny that she was completely and hopelessly in love with him.

  
    While he sat on a stool to polish a worn saddle with a brush in hand, Tina fed Zouwu some carrots and corn.

  
"How did you find this job, Newt?"

  
"My mother worked as a breeder of horses for a long time. She cared for several generations of horses from diverse inhabitants of Castle Combe, including Mr. Graves' parents. She retired and moved to Dorset as soon as I entered college. So, when Mr. Graves married Mrs. Graves and my mother was no longer in business, Leta appointed me to be the caretaker of the family's horses."

  
"How was your relationship with him? Percival Graves."

  
"I always had more contact with Mrs. Graves than with him, because he spent most of his days out of town. But if you want truth, I would really rather not have to deal with him. Always a closed, serious man, he seemed to be in a bad mood all the time."

  
"Were you here at the mansion on the day of his death?"

  
"No. Mrs. Graves gave me a few days off for the end of the year celebrations, so I traveled to my parents' house. Theseus was here. He thought it best to stay in the city to see if the diversion of money by the locomotive would really be put into practice. He and Leta celebrated the festivities with her parents."

  
"Who took care of the horses while you were gone?"

  
"John said he would take care of them. But they were a bit mistreated when I came back. I can't blame him for that. In addition to not having knowledge of biological areas, John already had enough work to do around here before taking on another responsibility."

  
    John Baulier. Was that his name?

  
    Tina remembered that Seraphina Picquery wanted to question him before her death.

  
"What kind of work does he do around here?"

  
"A little bit of everything. He's a gardener, a security guard, a lumberjack, worked as a private driver. I think that's all I know."

  
"Do you think he has any important information about the mysteries surrounding Percival Graves? Anything that might shed some light on my investigations?"

  
"I don't know, Tina, but I think it's worth asking him about it. After all, he was the person closest to Mr. Graves among all of us. Perhaps even closer than Eberdith."

  
    Tina pondered that information and decided to put John Baulier's interrogation at the top of her to-do list. Even if the Graves' handyman showed himself not at all essential to the investigations, Tina had nothing to lose with a simple conversation.

  
    She watched Newt while in his efforts to make shine the saddle and considered asking more about the daily routine of the Graves family, but Zouwu's large and curious snout diverted her attention to the gracious request for another caress.

  
    Newt smiled at the interaction she easily established with the animal.

  
"Do you like to ride, Tina?"

  
"I never rode before."

  
"Never?" - he seemed genuinely surprised. "You seem to have a lot of skill with that."

  
    Although hissed innocently, Newt's ambiguous words had the power to make Tina blush. She was not able to immediately understand the real meaning of that statement, but decided to take the safest route, anyway.

  
"Do you really think I'm skilled?"

  
"Of course. You are good at everything you do."

  
    She met Zouwu's eyes to hide the blush on her face.

  
"Well... Thank you. I never had many opportunities to ride before."

  
"Would you like to learn?" - he offered. "I could teach you, if you wanted to."

  
"Teach me how to ride?"

  
"Yes. We could practice a few times a week. Two or three."

  
    Did Newt realize how much he was making Tina blush at the possibility that there was a hidden meaning to all those words? Was that his real intention?

  
    Tina decided to bet a chip on that game.

  
"Three times a week? Well, this is very interesting."

  
"Really?" - he smiled. "I'm glad you liked the idea, Tina."

  
    Clearing her momentarily dry throat, she continued:

  
"Should I wear something appropriate, Mr. Scamander?"

  
"You can use whatever you want. Clothes don't usually interfere much on a ride."

  
"I see..."

  
    He was definitely flirting with her.

  
    Tina suppressed a genuine laugh between pursed lips. Even though the temperatures that morning were low, the interior of the stables looked relatively warm.

  
"And where will our first class be?"

  
    She wanted to complete the question with: _at my house or yours?_ but restrained herself. Apparently, the most fun part of that joke was being as implicit as possible.

  
"Right here, Tina."

  
"Here? Now? I mean... Philipe is out there..."

  
"No. Not now. We are not prepared for that."

  
    But Tina wasn't so sure she wasn't ready for that.

  
    She could still feel Newt's fingerprints all over her body, and it wasn't hard for her to lose herself amid the memories of the day before.

  
"So, with which horse do you prefer to practice?" - Newt called her back to reality.

  
"What?"

  
"The horses, Tina."

  
"The..." - and her voice failed. "The horses?"

  
"Yes. Zouwu and Frank. Which do you prefer to practice with?"

  
    _Ah._

  
    So he was really talking about horses. Without ambiguity.

  
    A terrible burning, even more intense than the previous one, spread from her face into her clothes. Tina was as embarrassed as she was tempted to laugh at the situation.

  
    The choked laugh escaped her tight lips.

  
"What?" - he asked.

  
"Nothing. I really don't have a preference, Newt. With the horses, I mean."

  
    Oblivious to Tina's confusions, Newt assessed the saddle in his hands, which gleamed after the polishing effort. Taking the job as finished, he returned it to its original place, among the others hanging on the wall, and approached Zouwu's bay again, where the woman was.

  
"She seems to like you. Maybe it's not a bad idea to ride her."

  
    Tina agreed with a silent nod, watching the mare closely. Newt's hand was close to hers, providing Zouwu with strokes behind her triangular ears. Instinctively, she wished she could touch him, feel only a small fraction of the heat he emanated.

  
"I'm glad you're here, Tina."

  
    And after that tender confession, there was no way for Tina to hide the involuntary smile that broke out on her lips.

  
    More than happy, Tina was grateful that Newt had welcomed her into his life, that he had introduced her to such rich and simple things, like Philipe, Zouwu, Frank. Things of fundamental importance so that, instead of crumbling into pieces, Tina could return to seeing colors as they are.

  
"Me too, Newt."

  
    It took only a brief encounter of glances for them to be guided by the magnetism that always bring them mere inches apart, mixing their short breaths.

  
    But that had been a light, delicate and fleeting kiss because, moments after their lips meeting, a childish voice sounded loud and animated inside the stables.

  
"Are you _really_ dating?"

  
    Moving away with a start, not knowing what to say, Newt and Tina risked each other amused looks.

  
    Philipe, who translated that silence as a positive response, felt even more happiness.

  
"So you're really thinking about having a baby! I'll be able to choose the name, won't I?"

  
    That was going to be a long afternoon.

 

 

 

 

 

"That new police officer is very cute, isn't she, Oliver?"

  
"Tina? Ah, yes. She is very beautiful."

  
    Oliver no longer wanted to hide his discomfort.

  
    Without showing any sketch of consideration for diversity, his father had spent the days before that punctuating any and all women who crossed his path as potential suitors for the _"future mother of my grandchildren"_ position.

  
    At breakfast, malicious hints about the local grocery store attendant.

  
    At lunch, indiscreet questions about the owner of the perfumery on the corner.

  
    At dinner, a falsely unassuming interest in the whereabouts of the busiest bar in town's attendant.

  
    Between an unsuccessful move and another one from that football game, an almost desperate remark about the newest member of Theseus's team.

  
    The irrepressible harassment that turned Oliver into a nervous wreck was not enough, added to it was the feeling of failure with Benjamin's feelings at every missed chance of telling the truth. He could see the growing frustration in his partner's eyes one day after another. It was almost as if they were screaming at Oliver how coward he was.

  
    The time was not in his favor. He knew that bomb would explode at any moment.

  
"You and your frown..." - the father snorted. "I don't understand how that girlfriend of yours can stand being around you when you're upset all the time."

  
"Maybe Olly is just tired of being pressured by you, dad."

  
    _Blessed be Ivane._

  
    Sitting on the back of the smallest sofa, on the opposite side of the room from which Oliver was, the girl alternated discreet but significant looks between him and his parents. That was also a constant behavior of Ivane, who seemed to share his anxiety. Or irritation, considering that she was also obliged to witness their father's insistent investigation.

  
    On television, a Manchester City striker fired the ball towards the opponent's goal only to send it over the crossbar in a poorly articulated kick. The father, taking advantage of the distraction to ignore his daughter's accusation for a few moments, directed a prolonged exclamation of impatience to the screen.

  
"I'm not pressing anyone to anything. I just don't understand why, if Oliver wants to get married and start a family, he doesn't introduce us to her."

  
  _Her._

  
_Her._

  
_Always her._

  
    Did the father know he was making the same mistake over and over again?

  
    Had he ever considered the possibility that, instead of encouraging him, his statements so full of certainty only scared Oliver and made him squirm in his bed, in the darkness of his room, every day before going to sleep?

  
    Did he know how tired Oliver was?

  
    Did he know how stifled, desperate for a little life, Oliver was?

  
"Because it's not a _her_."

  
    Oliver, with an incredibly controlled tone of voice to the intensity of fear, anguish and suppressed excitement in his chest, finally outlined the words he had rehearsed several times to say.

  
    So well guarded and nourished were they that when slid out of his mouth, they immediately removed part of the weight in his guts.

  
"What did you say, dear?" - it was his mother who spoke up.

  
"I said it's not a her, the person I love."

  
    At that moment, concentrated mainly on the sweat that welled up on the palms of his hands, it was impossible for Oliver to be sure of anything. But if he could place a bet, he would say that he saw relief in his mother's eyes.

  
"I don't know if I understand, Oliver" - the father's tone of voice, however, was not as loving as his mother's.

  
    He swallowed once.

  
    He met Ivane's blinking, glassy eyes and took courage to continue.

  
"You are right, I want to get married and have a family. But I don't have a girlfriend, and I don't love a woman either" - Oliver played with his knuckles, swallowing hard again before proceeding. "I love a man. I'm homosexual."

  
    Oliver remained aware of the silence that followed his confession.

  
    It was as if a knot was slowly being loosened in his throat, allowing large sips of air to enter so that he could finally breathe properly. He was unable to say when she came to stand beside him, only feeling Ivane's delicate hand touching his forearm in an encouraging gesture, because he was unable to look up at his parents faces.

  
    When he thought that the silence of everyone present and his sister's support were much better than the rejections expected for that moment, Oliver almost smiled.

  
    Then a full laugh filled the room.

  
"You were quite convincing, Oliver. I almost believed you."

  
    His father was still laughing when he finally looked at him. The amusement in Robert's eyes was enough to make the innocent smile that Oliver kept on his lips disappear.

  
    A mixture of anger and frustration went through his head, making him throb. Somehow, being considered an excellent joke by the father was worse than being violently rejected.

  
"I'm not kidding. His name is Benjamin and he works with me at the police station. We have been dating for two years."

  
    As Oliver desired, Robert swallowed his laughter, adopting the facial expression of one who realizes too late that he is not falling for a prank. Beside him, curled up against the sofa seat, his mother gaped at him.

  
    It was to the maternal eyes, devoid of disgust or malice, that Oliver confessed:

  
"He and I want the same things. We are going to get married and, when we have enough stability, we are going to adopt as many children as we want. It is all we want, more than anything else in the world."

  
    Brigitte's eyes filled with tears in the midst of an affectionate little smile and Oliver wanted to hug her. He almost forgot that they were not having that conversation alone.

  
"Are you telling me that your girlfriend is _a man?"_

  
    Robert's tone of voice was indecipherable and a scary, but Oliver hadn't come that far to give up.

  
"I didn't know how to tell you this, and I confess that I was afraid of how you might react for a long time, but to keep that secret inside of me would be too painful to bear. I don't want to delay the plans that Ben and I made anymore. I know that it can be difficult for you to understand all of this, but I want you to know that all I want is to be happy by the side of who I-"

  
_"Enough!"_

  
    The father's shout had been like a resounding thunder, shaking the structures of the house. In a second he was on his feet, red in the face, raging as he stretched a trembling finger toward the front door.

  
_"Out of my house!"_

  
"Robert..." - still on the verge of tears, Brigitte took her husband by the shoulders so that he wouldn t go over her son.

  
"After all the sacrifices we made for you, is that how you thank us, you bastard?"

  
"Robert!" - Brigitte dug her fingers deeper into his skin.

  
"Do you want to bring shame to this house, to this family? You, who call yourself a cop, and don't do the least to act like a man? This city is drenched in shit and now I see why. Not even the authorities have their heads in place!"

  
    Ivane, who felt the blood bubbling inside her wrists, stood beside her mother, between her father and her brother.

  
"Can you even hear yourself? Can you even see the lack of logic in everything you're saying?"

  
"Get out of my way, Ivane."

  
    Planting her feet on the ground, Ivane refused to go anywhere.

  
"Oliver is a wonderful man like no other, who has worked hard to be a competent officer and get where he is. And, in case I need to remind you of that, he has the right to love whoever he wants and to build a family with whomever he wants, while we only have a duty to respect him!"

  
"As long as he's under my roof, shaming my family's name, he has no right!"

  
"Shames a family's name prejudice and crime, not a homosexual son!"

  
    The word echoed through the environment like a forbidden curse, causing Robert to freeze in his movements. The gesture brought uncomfortable tears to the corners of Ivane's eyes, who felt vividly that she was fighting a battle against a rigid and impassive wall. An apparently lost battle.

  
    But, as always, she was not willing to give up.

  
    For Oliver she would never give up.

  
"What do you rather, father? Having a son who simply wants to love someone or having a son who wants to hurt someone?"

  
    For a brief moment, while her father's face seemed to concentrate on absorbing and pondering her argument, Ivane came to think that she had been successful in that discussion. In the next few moments, however, Robert's lips were pressed into a thin line, complementing the bitterness that overflowed his eyes.

  
"I rather him to leave this house before this city knows that I give shelter to someone like him" - and staring at Oliver behind Ivane's shoulders, Robert growled between his teeth, _"Out."_

  
"He's going nowhere!" - Brigitte found the strength to protest. "This house is not just yours, it belongs to all of us. You have no right to send someone out, least of all your own son."

  
_"This thing is not my son!"_

  
    Robert roared the words against the faces of the two women and any and all replies to that statement died within the bitter mouths of the other three participants in that scene, easily giving way to a silence as solid and heavy as a rock.

  
    All that was heard was a low and painful cry. Brigitte's cry. The cry of a mother with red eyes and empty expressions. But even though she still felt a dagger in her chest, she turned to her eldest child.

  
"Olly, go up to your room" - she said, her voice as low and weak as a sigh. "We'll continue this conversation when we are most lucid."

  
"No, mom" - he murmured in response, feeling nothing but a huge emptiness in his lungs. "I don't want to stay here anymore."

  
    Before his sister's and mother's trembling hands could even touch him, Oliver was already shooting up the stairs. The loud and distinct knock of a door was heard and, through the dead and mournful silence installed in the living room, there was the sliding of the zipper of one of Oliver's suitcases, followed by the rustle of pieces of clothing being thrown ,without delicacy, to its interior.

  
    Brigitte sank back into the upholstery on the sofa, her hands buried in her soaked eyes. Her sobs grew louder and louder.

  
    Robert, still flushed and breathless, seemed to be slowly crushed by the weight of his own words, but he was unwilling to go back on his actions.

  
"Keep rubbing his head! You treat this as normal while he destroys our family!"

  
"No" - Ivane hissed, irritated. "Give yourself credit, dad. You are doing this yourself."

  
    Ivane went up the flight of stairs as quickly as her brother, and her hurried steps disappeared through the door after another loud thud.

 

 

 

 

 

   Although her hands were shaking and damp, Leta precisely aligned the cutlery arrangement for that evening's dinner. She was willing to take care of every detail, making that meal the most memorable one in her family. Her family of three.

  
    The constant smile on her lips turned to Theseus, who took the roasted lamb out of the oven to deposit it over the kitchen sink. She imagined beside him a mischievous boy, with dark skin and curly hair, watching each step of his father closely. On the other side, perched on the sink counter, she imagined a curious girl, whose curls dangled over her shoulders and held a huge red ribbon bow at the top of her head, experiencing the sweet taste of the orange sauce.

  
    Theseus would be a unique father, Leta kept that certainty to herself. Theseus would be patient, careful and loving like no other. She could imagine him sitting in the living room armchair, cuddling the small, warm little body of their boy or girl in his arms. She could imagine him leaning over the crib, telling stories of brave little pigs and kind ants to bright childish eyes. She could imagine him riding the first bicycle without wheels through the quiet streets of Castle Combe, smiling so brightly that he could dispense with the presence of the sun.

  
    She wiped away the lonely tear that streamed down her face and brushed off the arrival of all the others when Theseus crossed the small hall to enter the dining room. In the center of the well-decorated table he deposited the platter with the lamb, and then loosened his already loosened tie. He still wore his clothes from work.

  
"The onions are badly burnt" - he sighed, defeated, and the gesture made Leta laugh weakly. "When I discover the secret to making them golden and crispy, the best roasted lamb in the whole United Kingdom will be mine."

  
"They look pretty crispy to me" - Leta scoffed to make him laugh.

  
"Funny."

  
    Although he sounded falsely hurt by being the target of that mockery, Theseus did not scold the happy smile on his lips for seeing her so happy. It was the first time in many days that the sparkle in her eyes was present.

  
    With a gesture of hands, Theseus indicated the chair in which Leta sat at every meal. He took the porcelain plate between the woman's forearms to serve her with the delicacies he prepared.

  
"How was work?" - she asked, just as Theseus sat next to her to start eating. "Any news on the investigations?"

  
"Nothing yet. We are counting on a visit to the railway station to collect some new information."

  
    Leta waved the glass filled with red wine just as usual, knowing that she wouldn't bring alcohol to her lips for the next seven months, and shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

  
"What would this new information be for?"

  
"For everything. To find those responsible for the theft of the locomotive, to reach those responsible for Percival's death..."

  
    Leta accidentally dropped the cutlery onto the plate. Theseus noticed the slight tremor in the female hands at the corners of the eyes.

  
"What?"

  
"Nothing."

  
"Leta..."

  
    The woman nudged the base of the glass with her index finger.

  
"You know I don't like that you're involved with this man, even if he's dead."

  
"I'm the delegate for Castle Combe, Leta. I'm doing my job."

  
"I know, but this is all very dangerous. See what happened to the President of the Investigations Department. See what happened to her employee" - Leta exasperated. "The people involved with that man's mysteries are in danger, God only knows what others like him are up to. I cry just thinking about what can happen to you if-"

  
_"Leta."_

  
    The woman looked up at Theseus's face and realized that tears blurred her vision. Why was she crying? She hated to talk about that matter with Theseus, that was true, but she knew she didn't have to cry about it. Not that night, anyway. Not on the night when everything should be perfect. 

  
    She mentally cursed the hormonal changes of the pregnancy.

  
"I know the risks I'm taking" - Theseus reached for his wife's hand with his, his fingers interlacing hers in an accomplice gesture. "My determination has always been greater than my fear, you know that. And besides, we take care of each other on my team, I trust Ben, Oliver and Tina with my life. We will all be fine."

  
    Leta wanted to return the reassuring smile Theseus gave her, but she also wanted to tell him the motivations to fear for his safety. She wanted to tell him to be cautious and careful when engaging in schemes as dirty and dangerous as those of Percival Graves. She wanted to tell him to always come home. For her. For that child.

  
"Theseus, I need to tell you something."

  
    Leta's voice was drowned out by the characteristic ringing of the man's cell phone. Both pairs of eyes turned to the illuminated display, to Benjamin's name calling to the screen.

  
"I can leave it for later..." - Theseus indicated the device. Leta had not opened up to him in a while to talk about her feelings or anything else that was important to her. Maybe Ben could wait.

  
"No. Okay. Go ahead." - Leta sounded genuine. She would have time to get rid of those tears while Theseus was on the phone.

  
    Theseus raised the device to his ear.

  
"Ben."

  
"Theseus?" -  the policeman's voice was muffled, as if he were crying. "Sorry to be calling out of your shift. We just received an anonymous report of a fight on the Upper Side. Oliver is with me. We are in a complicated situation. Could you find out what happened?"

  
    Theseus immediately understood the reason for Benjamin's shock and felt a lump forming in his throat. Apparently Oliver's woes over his family's rejection had come true. He sighed.

  
"Sure. Give me the details of the report. I'll be there in a few minutes."

  
    Leta watched Theseus get up and scribble notes on a pad by the fireplace. A new wave of concern washed over her. Her feet took on a frantic rhythm of agitation under the table.

  
"Upper Side violence" - he answered Leta's silent question after ending the call. "Ben has no car."

  
"You better hurry, then."

  
"You wanted to tell me something and it seemed important. Do you want to tell me now?"

  
    Leta sighed deeply, but just smiled slightly.

  
"No. I rather wait until you're back."

  
    Theseus saw the frustration on his wife's face, hidden behind the forced smile, and wanted to take her in his arms. He hated to disappoint her. He walked over to the small figure to deposit a delicate kiss on her dark hair.

  
"Sorry, love. Ben and Oliver are in trouble. I'll be back soon."

  
    And Leta watched him enter the newly installed night through the front door.

 

 

 

 

 

   It had been just over five minutes since Theseus' left.

  
    Not hungry due to her relentless anxiety, Leta absently drummed her fingers on the table. She had rehearsed dozens of different ways to announce the arrival of their first child, but she had not yet selected the most appropriate one for the moment.

  
    Should she say _we will be parents?_

  
    Or maybe _we will have a baby?_

  
    Maybe _I'm pregnant?_

  
  Her stomach was still spinning in anxiety.

  
    Between a reverie and another, Leta remembered the blood test hidden among her belongings and smiled to herself. She needed to touch it again.

  
    Leta went up the flight of stairs and walked to the end of the hall. The lamp on one of the street poles painted the wooden floor orange. An invigorating breeze came in through the open window and kissed her cheek as she settled on the bed.

  
    There it was. Fifty-three days of her little girl's life. Her maternal instincts told her that from the first beat heard.

  
    With that same easy smile on her face, Leta hurried to return it to the mess of papers and resume her step back to the first floor. Soon, Theseus would be back.

  
    But she stopped abruptly in her movements when she realized that she was no longer alone.

  
    At the opposite end of the corridor, just in front of the half-open door of one of the guest rooms, there was a silhouette casually propped against the frame.

  
    It wore black clothes, but Leta could see its face. Beautiful eyes looked at her with absolute silence. They were extremely peaceful at first. With some omitted motivation, however, not so much.

  
    Caution. It was what Leta needed.

  
"You scared me."

  
    The silhouette only assessed her. There was no expression on that face.

  
"What do you want here?"

  
"Answers."

  
    Leta's legs faltered on her heels in response to that cold tone of voice. She didn't have enough time to recover herself before the voice was present once again.

  
"Does he know about me?"

  
"What you mean?"

  
"Don't be silly."

  
    Leta swallowed.

  
    The silhouette let one of its hands slide purposefully down the corridor wall, emerging from the shadows behind its back.

  
    It was entirely covered by a black glove.

  
    That was not a good thing.

  
"Nobody knows."

  
_"Nobody?"_

  
    There was a distinct metallic noise echoing down the hall. A split second later, the silver barrel of the pistol was in sight, also orange from the outside lighting. The silver bullet mentioned by Theseus after Seraphina Picquery's autopsy had been triggered by that mechanism. It had been fired by that revolver.

  
    The desperation for life materialized ahead of Leta. Before she knew it, tears were streaming down her face and dripping to the ground.

  
"Leave. Please."

  
"Don't tell me what to do."

  
"You are not like this" - Leta murmured between low sobs. "This thing in your hand doesn't suit you. Leave it or it will hurt someone."

  
    At a momentary spike in tension, the pistol turned toward Leta.

  
    She sucked in a deep breath to ease the tremor in her voice.

  
"Listen. Theseus is coming back. You don't want to risk him seeing you here."

  
"Theseus isn't still coming back."

  
"The phone call..."

  
"False report."

  
"They will track the number."

  
    A cold laugh of scorn.

  
"I've been playing this game for a long time. I know the rules well enough to use them to my advantage."

  
    The figure, still holding the gun, took a step forward. Leta retreated two.

  
"What do you still want here?"

  
"I want to know everything you know."

  
"I know the things you did. All of them. But I will never tell anyone, you know that. You know you can trust me."

  
"How can I trust you if I know you're cheating on someone, Leta? Let's be honest, you can't be being loyal to two people at the same time."

  
    And that was like a punch to Leta's stomach.

  
"Please, leave..."

  
    Deep sadness was all that Leta could feel. For her child. For herself. For the person that stared at her across the hall.

  
"Your loyalty was valuable, you should know that, but I can't risk seeing the tide turn. Also you should know that you're right. I'm not like this and I don't like to do this, but I have no choice anymore. _We are three,_ aren't we?"

  
    For a moment of genuine respect, that killer tone of voice was forgotten.

  
"It was good to meet you, Leta Lestrange."

  
    And, with a clear shot in the center of her chest, Leta's anguish and anxiety were stopped, hidden forever like a paper in a box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's been a long time!
> 
> First of all... It hurts in me, too. But I want you to know that there's a reason for everything that happens in this story. Please, stay until the end (and forgive me!!!!).
> 
> Well, I also want to apologize for the delay in this update. I've been through a lot since our last meeting and I've found it unusually difficult to write (especially a chapter like this one). Little by little, I'm trying and putting my head into place again. I hope you also don't mind it.
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading. 
> 
> You, who reads and/or gives me a review, you mean as much as this story means to me. Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Be very welcome to discover the secrets of Castle Combe!
> 
> You can contact me on twitter for questions and reviews: @sonsarine


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